


A Soft Place to Land

by Typewriter_witchcraft



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Flash Thompson Needs a Hug, Flash Thompson Redemption, Flash isn't a jerk, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gender Identity, High School, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, LATER, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nonbinary Character, Oblivious Peter, Pet Names, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Photographer Peter Parker, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Questioning, Self-Hatred, Self-Mutilation, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Starvation, Teasing, Teen Romance, Touch-Starved, and by someone I mean Flash, author just wants a soft romance, author loves communication, boys are stupid, ish?, it takes a while, peter parker paints his nails, sharing food, someone give this kid a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:02:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 44
Words: 78,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Typewriter_witchcraft/pseuds/Typewriter_witchcraft
Summary: "With great power comes great responsibility." Yeah, right. More like, with great power comes stab wounds and bloody sheets and a hero complex that could take down even the strongest of men. And Peter, well, he isn't the strongest of men. Not to mention that Peter's hero complex doesn't exactly extend to himself.May still doesn’t know that he’s Spiderman. Because of this, she also doesn’t know about his increased metabolism, hunger, strength, sensitivity, everything. He didn’t really notice, for the first few weeks, until he hears May on the phone with one of her work friends discussing how she didn’t realize how much teenage boys eat. Peter immediately stopped eating.Flash knows something is up. He knows the signs, or at least he thinks he does. And he's going to get to the bottom of things, one way or another.
Relationships: Betty Brant/Ned Leeds, Peter Parker & Flash Thompson, Peter Parker/Flash Thompson
Comments: 287
Kudos: 709





	1. In a Haze

**Author's Note:**

> Peter does NOT have an actual eating disorder, but he does display extremely disordered eating habits due to his own guilt and self-sacrificing nature. If this is triggering to you, please proceed with caution.

Dust mites float through the window with Peter as he crawls into his grimy bedroom. It’s 5 am and the glow of the streetlights has begun to blend with the rising sun, teasing at exposing Peter’s identity as he attempts to gracelessly slip back into his crappy apartment, blessedly unnoticed. 

Peter strips out of his suit as quickly and painlessly as he can, the fabric getting stuck to the tacky, half-dried blood coating his lower abdomen. His suit’s nanobots stitched the fabric together in seconds, his skin regrettably unable to do the same. This is one of the worst places to be injured, Peter notices. Unlike the gunshot wound straight through his bicep last Thursday, it took far more maneuvering to peel the blood-soaked suit away from the deep stab wound decorating his stomach. He quietly chuckles at the thought, basking in the hilarity of how far his priorities have shifted from “don’t get hurt” to “don’t get hurt in inconvenient places.” Fuzz and dust explode out of the carpet as he drops his suit onto the floor, forcing a painful cough out of the teen’s tired lungs. 

Peter finally makes it under the thin sheet covering his grimy mattress, only to remember that he hasn’t showered. He can smell the stale stench of the past few nights wafting from his bed, and if he had the energy, he’d almost definitely be disgusted. But he doesn’t, so he just goes to sleep. 

\---

_ Peter knew it was getting bad when he forgot his own birthday. He realized he didn’t care when May was the only one to remember it for him. Ned was busy with Betty, forgetting what month it is, much less which day. MJ sent him a text that seemed mildly nicer than usual, but that was probably just a coincidence. May got him a small slice of cake from Delmar’s, looking at Peter with big, apologetic brown eyes until he ate the whole thing. It’s not like Peter would let any of it go to waste, anyway, not with how much May has been struggling lately. It was the only thing Peter ate all day--not necessarily from lack of wanting to, but because he physically couldn’t bring himself to waste the money.  _

_ May still doesn’t know that he’s Spiderman. Because of this, she also doesn’t know about his increased metabolism, hunger, strength, sensitivity, everything. He didn’t really notice, for the first few weeks, until he hears May on the phone with one of her work friends discussing how she didn’t realize how much teenage boys eat. Peter immediately stopped eating. Well, immediately is a stretch.  _

_ It takes more strength to stop eating than it does to hold a cruise ship together. Peter’s determined, but he’s still very much (at least kind of) human. The hunger pains still hit him hard, and his stomach growls unwaveringly for the first few days. The smell of cafeteria food makes his mouth water, until it makes him nauseous. Ned tries to make him eat, and the determination it takes him to refuse every day hurts worse than the not eating. At first, Peter made endless excuses, citing stomachaches and headaches and exhaustion. Ned doesn’t buy it, and Peter knows he can’t keep it up forever. So, Peter starts to sleep in the library during lunch. Ned is worried, but for the wrong reasons. He nags Peter for the first few days; “Are you okay?” “Is it a… Spidey thing?” “Have you been sleeping?” The answer to every question is just a shrug. He doesn’t know if he’s okay. It could be a Spidey thing, because his heightened senses and metabolism sure aren’t making this easier. He’s been sleeping, just not enough. It takes way more strength to hold yourself together after you’ve stopped eating.  _

_ Now, it’s basically second nature to avoid food. Peter takes advantage of his Spidey powers, swinging from building to building to pick through the dumpsters in search of something to hold him over. It’s not like Peter didn’t want to eat--he desperately does. He just doesn’t deserve May wasting all of her money on him, simple as that.  _

_ So, he adapts.  _ _ He learns that the fancy Whole Foods throws out far more food than the gas stations near his neighborhood, so he uses his free time on Friday nights to journey a few miles away to find rations for the next week. They never last that long. He learns that the bagel place near the subway stop in Midtown throws out moldy and stale bagels every other night. _ _ He learns how long he can go without eating before he blacks out on the roof of a building and wakes up hours later to the sun rising, covered with pigeon shit and sweat. He’s moderately proud that it only took him three times to figure this one out. He learns--  _ he learns that his alarm just went off. Fuck. 

\---

Half an hour of sleep is not nearly enough, but it’s what he gets. Peter tries not to stay out this late, but there was a dog who needed shelter and a woman getting mugged and a little boy screaming for help and-and-and-it’s time to wake up. Peter heaves himself off of his bed, heading to the bathroom to “bandage” his wound shut. The “bandage” involves rubbing alcohol, cheap gauze that he takes from the science labs, and duct tape. Very professional. The wound has already turned an angry pink, oozing clear goo that makes the flakes of dried blood look shiny. Peter takes an old, crusty shirt and washes the wound, not wanting to tip May off by bloodying a towel. He quickly tapes the wound shut, pulling on a long sleeve, a comic t-shirt over it, and a zip-up sweater. Before running out of the apartment, he grabs a hoodie last-minute. Ever since he’s started eating less, he’s been freezing all the time. 

May tries to stop him in the doorway, offering him a banana for breakfast. Peter waves her off, saying that he’s running late and doesn’t have time. It’s only 7 am. He leaves. 

The morning flies past him in a haze of gray, soft fog covering every surface as Peter makes the journey to school. A chill spikes through him and he slips the hoodie on, tucking his thin fingers into the pocket and shrugging up his shoulders to protect his neck. Before he can think about pulling the hood over his head, he’s standing at the doors of the school. Peter blinks, surprised. Time has been different lately.

“Hey, Peter!” The teen jumps, wincing slightly as Ned’s hand comes down on his shoulder and sends shock waves down his fragile skeleton. 

“Ned, hey,” Peter breathes. 

The other boy takes his hand back as if it isn’t some weapon of mass destruction before launching into some story about Betty and her hair. Peter simply smiles, face twitching with the effort as he tries to look invested. “So what do you think?”

Suddenly, everything seems to freeze. Ned is beaming at him, awaiting Peter’s answer to a question he barely knew was asked. A locker slams in the background and Peter jumps. 

“Sorry, what?” he asks, fingers twitching in the pocket of his hoodie as he grasps at dead ends to figure out what he missed. 

“Do you want to go to prom with me and Betty? I know you and MJ have a thing but like you haven’t asked her and it’s a while away, so you can always ask her and you two can come with us. So, yeah…” Ned trails off, uncertainty coloring his features as he mistakes Peter’s confusion for disapproval. 

“Oh!” Peter exclaims.  _ What if I don’t make it to prom? Would MJ even want to go with me, if I asked? Do I even want to ask? _ Peter shakes his head in an attempt to clear his mind. “Sure,” he says. He wants to give Ned more, some kind of encouragement or thanks, but he can’t seem to come up with the words. 

“Awesome! So I was thinking-” Ned begins to ramble again, back to his bubbly self. Peter wants to listen, he really does, but it’s like his brain is made of cotton. The endless conversations of teenagers in the hallway buzz around his ears as the pair make their way down the hall to their first class, making Peter’s eardrums burn. Slamming lockers punctuate glares from classmates and Peter has to restrain himself from flinching with each one. He barely notices as they walk into the classroom, instead making a beeline to the desk in the back corner. Peter used to be a front-left-desk kind of guy, before… 

The class goes by at a snail’s pace, Peter’s eyes tracking the minutes-hand on the clock as he glares at the kid in front of him who won’t stop shaking his leg. Not even the normal, “I have pent up energy” leg shake or the “anxiety? Me? Of course” leg shake. The, “I want to ruin Peter’s day by frantically kicking my leg back and forth with no discernible rhythm” leg shake. Peter picks at his cuticles until they bleed, just for something to do. He wouldn’t even know what class he was in right now if not for the droning sound of his history teacher’s boring voice. 

The bell rings and Peter goes to shoot out of his seat, forgetting the massive gash in his torso in the process. A sharp sting of pain shoots through him, making everything around him come into focus like a camera zooming in too quickly. He nearly doubles over with the force of the pain but, before he has much of a chance to react, someone slams their books down on his desk. Flash. 

“What’s up, Penis? Why so pissy today? You on your period or some shit?” Flash jeers, face contorting into what he probably thinks looks like a sneer but instead just looks like he has to sneeze. 

“Shut up, Flash,” Peter mumbles, trying to shove his way out of the door. 

“What was that, Penis? Couldn’t hear you over the sound of your misery.” Flash puffs out his chest, attempting to show off the new muscles that he built up over the summer doing who-knows-what. 

“Nothing,” Peter says. 

Flash’s eyes dart down to Peter’s stomach before he says, “Guess you really are on your period,” and leaves. Confusion entices Peter to look down and, when he does, he sees a bloom of red start to leak through the shirts under his open zip-up. Serves him right for taking off that hoodie. 

\---

Peter spends most of the next period in the bathroom, inspecting and prodding at the gaping wound. Usually, the duct tape is enough to hold in the blood if the gauze leaks, but it must have ripped today without him noticing. There’s a patch of pink, itchy skin underneath the bottom strip of duct tape, revealing to Peter that at least one piece of the tape ripped off this morning. The issue is, Peter didn’t even feel it happen. Curious, he pokes at the freshly exposed skin, watches it turn white under his fingertips and then flood red again when he removes his hand. Without thinking, Peter then rips off the rest of the tape to reveal the gash.  _ That  _ definitely stung. 

The open hole in his stomach is healing, but not enough. Usually, it takes about two or three days for a really bad injury like this to close up. Right now, Peter estimates that it will take closer to a week. The outer edges of the laceration have only just started to pucker with scar tissue and blood flows impatiently from the center. Peter’s calloused fingers trace its edges, smearing bright blood across his abdomen. He pinches at the skin around it, marveling at how little give there is. It hurts, but Peter can’t stop. In a trance, Peter shoves his pointer finger deep into the middle of the wound. In hindsight, Peter will blame this on an impulsive curiosity to know how deep it goes. In the moment, Peter just really wants to know what it feels like. 

A sharp gasp echoes through the single-stall bathroom as Peter yanks his finger out of the wound on instinct, followed by wet sobs as he finds it covered in glossy blood up to the second knuckle. Pain shoots through his whole body, eventually receding into a dull, aching throb. Peter begins to hyperventilate.  _ Why did you do that? You’re such a mess, who in their right mind does something like that? _ His frail body shakes with his feeble sobs and he is grateful that it’s the middle of second period and there isn’t anyone in the halls to hear his self-centered bullshit. The last thing he wants is for some hero student or sympathetic teacher to walk in and find him covered with blood and poking at a massive stab wound. How the hell would he explain that away?

It takes another half an hour for Peter to retreat from the safety of the bathroom, driven out by the threat of the next bell and an influx of teenagers trying to take a piss before their next class. He washes the red off of his hands, shoves some toilet paper under the ruined duct tape, and does his best to stick it back on before pulling down his shirts and shimmying into the hoodie. Bursting out of the bathroom, eyes glued to the floor, Peter doesn’t even notice the boy standing by the door staring at him with wide eyes. 

The rest of the day proceeds as usual, with one key difference. Ever since the clarity from Peter’s sharp movements on his wound, Peter begins to experiment more. When everything feels stuffy and cold and too-loud, Peter pushes not-so-gently on his stomach. 


	2. Never Go to the Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all of the support already! I can't believe how much traction this got after only one chapter, I'll try to update regularly! 
> 
> Also, don't hate me, but Peter goes though A Lot in this fic....

Peter skips AcaDec that afternoon. For the third time. That month. 

He tries to text MJ, shaky fingers hovering over the keys as he re-reads his past few texts to her. He has to scroll up nearly 4 times before he finds one with a response, and that was his birthday message. He thinks. S _ he doesn’t care about you. If she gave a shit she would respond. It’s not worth it _ . Peter pockets his phone and makes his way to the alley where he keeps his suit. 

He gets halfway down the alley before he forgets that he left it in his room. 

\----

Peter knows he should have gone home. He should take the blessing, the sign from the universe or God or whatever the hell is in charge of this fucked up world and go home and go to sleep. It’s been days,  _ weeks _ , since he’s had the luxury of a full night’s sleep. He’s bleeding through his bandages. He hasn’t showered in days. 

Peter doesn’t go home. 

Instead, he walks to the park. It’s a dumb idea, an auto-pilot, sleep-deprived, stupid idea. He ends up in a small park near the school, curled around a stale, two-days-from-moldy bagel. He caved and broke into his supply from yesterday, which he had really been hoping to last through the week. While he knows the shop throws out bagels every other night, he also knows he can’t be the only hungry, desperate person in New York. Still, it’s just not enough. They only had four leftover bagels yesterday, which would last him two days at most with other food. Bagels are good, God, they’re good, but they don’t have any protein or vitamins or anything. The carbs help more than he ever imagined, but he needs more. He always needs more. He’s so fucking selfish. 

Peter snaps out of his trance as the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It’s not quite his Spidey-senses, but something… close. He doesn’t have the energy to snap his head toward the source, instead settling to slowly turn so his body can remain as much in his fetal position. 

“Penis?” Flash’s voice filters through his haze, his surprised tone matching Peter’s own reaction to seeing the other boy. “What the fuck?” 

Peter belatedly realizes that it probably wasn’t the best idea to stay in the park closest to school well into the time of day when AcaDec would be dismissing. Still, it’s not like anyone actually walks home these days. The rich kids have cars and butlers and parents with no lives to pick them up, and the scholarship kids either take the bus or the Subway. Why the fuck is Flash of all people walking? 

“Um, hello?” Flash’s eyebrows are the highest Peter’s ever seen them. Oh yeah, it’s probably weird that Peter is basically bleeding out while clutching a half of a bagel in the park at fucking 5 pm. 

“Yeah, uh, hey?” It’s not like Peter knows what to say in this situation.  _ Hello, guy who bullies me, I’m contemplating death-by-stab-wound. And how are you today? _

“What the fuck are you doing here, Penis?” Flash’s cheeks look pink and his voice is all high and squeaky; is he okay? 

“Just, uh, hanging out? Why are you here, don’t you have a new car or something?” Now Peter’s the one blushing.  _ He probably thinks it’s weird that you know he has a new car. What are you, a stalker? Why do you even know that? _ Peter doesn’t exactly know the answer to that one. 

“I, uh, I caught a ride with Jess to school this morning and forgot we had AcaDec so I’m walking to the Subway. Why’d you skip, anyway, Parker?” He’s still dating Jess? This is his longest relationship yet, nearly a month. Why does that make Peter’s stomach hurt? 

“Internship. I gotta go, Flash.” Peter keeps it short and sweet. He knows his excuse makes no sense, he knows it’s dumb to try to stand now after literal hours of sitting and bleeding, but he’s so fucking confused. Nothing Flash is saying makes sense either, since when did Flash stop to talk to him? He doesn’t have the energy for this. He isn’t even sure he has the energy to get up. 

Peter’s vision swims as he stands up, one hand clutching his bagel and the other pressed against his stomach. The forgotten weight of his backpack nearly sends him toppling backward, causing a dumbfounded Flash to reach out and reflexively grab his upper arm. Peter flinches so hard he drops his bagel.  _ Fuck, you blew it. How can you be so stupid? One fucking touch and you’re ready to lash out, you can’t just go around nearly hitting civilians, it doesn’t matter the reason. And you’ve lost your fucking bagel. _

Peter looks up at Flash when he finally feels balanced enough to breathe normally, heart dropping at the look on the other boy’s face. Flash’s eyes are wide, mouth slightly agape-  _ his lips are so full, how has Peter never noticed? _ \- and his expression screams fear. Peter clutches harder at his stomach, dropping his eyes back down to the ground. “I gotta go,” he repeats, spinning around the half-sprint-half-hobble in any fucking direction that isn’t there. 

\----

Peter finds himself in the alley outside of his window, six stories down with no way of making it up the side of the building. There’s no way he can scale the wall like this, one hand out of commission and dripping blood. It’s not like he can waltz through the door like this, looking like the pathetic victim of a very stabby mugging. 

Peter’s vision begins to blur, the seasick feeling from earlier at the park resurfacing. There’s no harm in a quick nap, right? 

\---

_ What the fuck? _ Peter’s eyes flutter open, immediately wishing to squeeze shut once more when the piercing light of the sun reaches them.  _ At least he woke up before sundown…  _

Peter blinks the blurriness out of his vision, unable to fully dispel it. It kind of reminds him of when he was younger and needed glasses. It reminds him of before. Sometimes he-- _ -selfishly, stupidly _ \-- wishes for it.

Peter shuffles into a seated position, wincing as his wound pulls painfully at the movement. He slowly stands, black clouding his vision as his head goes fuzzy and he tastes metal in his mouth. Peter shakes his head aggressively to dispel the fuzziness, regretting his decision as it shakes his balance and he nearly falls. 

Before he loses his nerve, Peter takes three hasty steps away from the wall before launching himself a few feet up it. All breath leaves his body as his hands and feet make contact, the impact jolting him far more than usual. His backpack feels like it’s filled with bricks rather than high school textbooks and moldy bagels. 

The window ledge seems much farther than usual. Eventually he makes it, but not without nearly falling three times. Its edge cuts into his hands, the new pain startling Peter back to life and encouraging him to pull his protesting body through the gap. He lands with a thump. 

“Peter? Baby, you ok?” May’s voice filters up to his room. 

“Yeah, May, just dropped a book!” Peter yells back, beating himself for how weak his voice sounds. May doesn’t seem to notice. Peter doesn’t know if he’s relieved or heart-broken. 

As much as Peter wants to reward himself for making it up to his room without literally falling to his death, he has to clean himself up before May catches him bleeding out on the carpet.  _ Fuck, is he staining the carpet?  _


	3. Mutant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's mindset starts to shift. Not for the best.

Peter’s running out of duct tape. The hole in his gut has stopped oozing blood and instead started to ooze a clear, thick liquid. A Google search tells him that this is normal for wounds this size, that it’s just his body trying to disinfect the region or something, but it doesn’t bring him any peace of mind. He’s got fucking  _ spider  _ in his DNA, how is he supposed to know if this is normal? Nothing about him is normal, it never will be again.  _ Mutant freak. He’s barely a step above a monster. _

Peter’s hands shake. His left hand is worse, it twitches nonstop while his right just quivers gently. He distantly thinks that he should really get a handle on that, it doesn’t really seem normal anymore. 

The sound of Peter’s phone buzzing startles him nearly to death. It lights up from where it landed on his bathroom floor after he dropped it while cleaning his wounds, the bright white light throwing the red toilet paper in the bin next to it in sharp contrast. Peter groans as he bends to pick it up, absently throwing some clean paper towels on top of the mess in his garbage can to hide the carnage. 

Expecting a weather alert or some other mundane, mass message, the text that pops up on his lock screen surprises Peter more than it should. He hasn’t received a personal text, other than the bland birthday wish from MJ, in.... _fuck_ , who even knows how long. What Peter had been expecting even less, though, was a text from Flash fucking Thompson. 

**Flash: MJ says if you don’t show for the next AcaDec meeting you’re out. Here’s the itinerary for Friday.** **_(image.png attached)_ **

Peter’s heart drops to his stomach. MJ is so pissed that she won’t even text him. He fucked up so bad. Why the fuck is Flash the one she is making text him? Is she so pissed that she sent his bully just to fuck with his head? 

Peter’s thumbs twitch violently across his cracked screen, his left thumb nicking itself on a sharp edge as he types out a shaky response. He really has to get his hands checked out. 

**Peter: thanks. tell mj i’m sorry**

The response comes back almost immediately. Peter is on the edge of a panic attack. 

**Flash: Why’d you skip again anyway? Finally figuring out you’re too stupid to play with the big dogs?**

Peter is torn between throwing up and snorting at the absurdity of Flash’s insults. It’s like he’s not even trying. 

**Peter: just wasn’t feeling it. i’ll be back next week**

Peter stares at the screen for the next three minutes, tapping on it blankly each time it darkens and tries to turn off. No response comes in. Peter throws his phone onto his bed and cries. 

\---

Peter spends the next three days feeling like a failure. Not like he doesn’t spend every day feeling like one, but these three days were especially hard. The gash on his stomach has finally started to close, notwithstanding the thick line of scabs that Peter keeps ripping off. The glistening pink skin underneath just looks so pure, so innocent. Peter wishes all of him looked like that. 

His grades have started to take a nosedive. He’s made it to every class this week, which is starting to become a feat within itself. Staying awake, though… that’s another story. Even Mr. Harrison was getting frustrated by him. 

Worst, though, is Flash. The guy has been relentlessly bugging Peter, even to the point where Ned noticed. 

“Peter, what’s up with you and Flash lately? He’s more up your ass than usual,” Ned groans as Flash yells yet another mindless insult at Peter as he skates past the pair down the hall. Peter just shrugs. Opposite to Flash, Peter hasn’t been feeling very talkative lately. It’s not like he’s mute or anything, talking just takes a lot of energy. Energy he doesn’t have. Energy May can’t afford. Energy he doesn't deserve. “Seriously, this is getting out of hand.” 

Peter wishes he could agree, but part of him has been enjoying the attention from Flash in a sick, twisted, fucked up way. It’s not like Peter enjoys being bullied, but Ned has been so caught up in Betty lately and MJ has been giving him the silent treatment since AcaDec Tuesday. Flash’s stupid, only-mildly-soul-crushing insults are honestly a step up from the entirely soul-destroying pain of being completely and utterly ignored. 

Ned seems to take his silence as an excuse to pull out his phone, chuckling lightly under his breath as his thumbs fly across the screen. Peter resists looking at the screen, knowing it’s likely Betty planning yet another adorable outing for the two. As much as he’s over the moon for his best friend, Peter is desperately jealous. Whether he’s jealous of Ned or Betty is a question for another time. 

Shockingly, it’s Peter’s phone which buzzes next. He quickly pulls it out of the pocket of his hoodie, the removal of the weight making his entire body feel jittery and uneven as his other pocket remains heavy with the weight of his web-shooters. Peter knows he’s probably just paranoid, but he doesn’t keep his web-shooters more than one zipper away ever since last prom. 

**Flash: You know, it’s far less entertaining to fuck with you if you don’t respond.**

Peter snorts out a shocked laugh. Ned flashes him a surprised look, probably because nobody (including himself) has heard Peter laugh in who even knows how long. Flash never fails to surprise. 

**Peter: sorry that i don’t like being insulted**

His fingers hover over the send button, questioning whether he should press it. _ Is that too harsh? Is he being sensitive? Why is Flash even texting him again, this makes no sense _ . He’s never texted Peter before last night.  _ Maybe this is just a new way to torture him. _

Peter shakes his head before holding down the delete button. 

**Peter: would you rather i tell you to fuck off out loud instead of in my head next time**

Peter hits send before he can chicken out. Because he will chicken out. 

**Flash: >:|**

Peter can’t hold in his giggles this time. It’s so bizarre that Flash still uses old-school emojis, especially with the guy’s obsession with Instagram lives and Twitter. 

Ned looks at him like he’s grown another head but still doesn’t ask Peter anything. He doesn’t seem to care. 

\---

Other than some half-hearted insult swaps with an annoyed Flash, the rest of Peter’s day goes by as bleakly as every other one. 

Peter finds himself sitting at his usual lunch table with Ned and Betty, MJ nowhere to be found. White noise boxes Peter’s ears in as he watches himself watch Ned and Betty, blinking blearily at the happy couple while he tries to stay awake. He devoured his school-provided lunch within the first minute he got it, leaving the grease-stained plastic tray discarded by his right elbow. 

A sharp pain in his gut wakes Peter out of his fog. He twitches almost imperceptibly in his seat, hands coming to cradle his stomach. The teen sprints out of the cafeteria, moving faster than he has as Peter in weeks. His beloved single-stall bathroom is across the building, yet Peter can’t bring himself to examine the wound anywhere else. He stumbles down the halls in a haze, breathing filling his ears while the fluorescent lights pierce his retinas and make him squint painfully at the tile floors. His shoes squeak against the linoleum, sounds of scuffling and chattering growing louder and louder as Peter shuffles past herds of loitering freshmen. He finally makes it to the safe haven of his bathroom as the noise buzzing through his head reaches a fever pitch, slamming and locking the door behind him as he rips off his zip-up hoodie and tucks his shirts beneath his armpits. The duct tape has started to peel at the corners but remains sticky across the quivering expanse of Peter’s abdomen, ripping little hairs from his skin as Peter tears it away. A groan forces itself from his throat and Peter hastily shoves the sleeve of his hoodie into his mouth with one hand to stifle the noise as his other hand continues to peel the tape away. 

Red, irritated skin gives way to the pinky-white scar tissue forming on his stomach. Peter watches in horror as the scabs drop from his skin unprovoked, falling to the tile below him as he watches his skin knit itself back together. It seems that the burst of energy his body sucked out of the cafeteria lunch jump-started his healing, but was not quite enough to push it into the speed category. His skin slowly pulls itself over the shiny pink gash to form a bridge of bright white scar tissue. 

Peter watches in horrified fascination, never having the chance to watch the process before as it always moved too quickly for him to process it. Detached, Peter watches himself dig a finger underneath the new skin before it can fully seal itself. He bites down hard on the hoodie, a blinding white-hot spark of pain, causing him to rip his finger away. The skin deflates as his finger escapes, quivering for a second before gluing itself down. It’s like his cells have a mind of their own. It’s like he’s possessed. Peter can't stop staring. He watches in a trance as his hand returns to the gash, this time just holding the skin apart. Not intruding, not pushing, just holding it there. Peter wonders how long it would take for the skin to just knit itself together over his finger, as if it were nothing more than an obstacle. He wonders how long it would take if he went another few days with nothing to eat. He wonders how long it would take for it to stop altogether. 

The pain grows unbearable as the voices in Peter's head start to calm down, receding into background noise. Peter removes his hand from the wound, watching it heal before focusing on just his stomach. Peter doesn't know when it happened, but the skin seems tighter. He sees a stretch mark or two, making bile rise in the back of his throat. Is he being too selfish, still? Does he need to cut back more? This can't be right, he can't be gaining weight. But yet, his stomach feels soft beneath his shaking hands, hints of rolls hiding within the creases of his sides. Peter wants to curl up in a ball hide, he's so revolted by himself. How can he be so self-absorbed, so gluttonous as to think he's starving when he looks like this? He just has to try harder, he knows he can do it. He can be smaller, he can take up less space, he just needs more time. God, he wished he didn't. Sometimes Peter wishes time would just stop. Maybe he just wants his time to stop. He doesn't think about it too hard. 

He looks into the bathroom mirror in front of him. He sees his worst nightmares reflected back at him, his gut protruding selfishly and his hands shaking weakly. No hero looks like this. 

Peter removes the hoodie from his mouth as he lets his shirts drop down over his bare stomach, deciding that his freakish skin will protect him well enough without another coat of bandaging. He shoves the duct tape and bloody gauze deep into the trash can, ripping paper towels from the dispenser until they are covered in a thick layer of scratchy brown paper. 

The bell rings and Peter goes to class. 


	4. First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's mindset grows worse and worse as our boys officially interact for the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you all SO MUCH for the continued support, I'm shocked by how many of you have enjoyed this! I have finals this week so I decided to give y'all an especially long chapter to make up for the fact that I won't be able to post until next week. Thank you again, and please don't hesitate to give any feedback!!

Peter skips school Friday. It’s not like he means to, it just happens. 

He spent all of Thursday afternoon and evening on patrol. He stopped a couple of muggings, got nicked in the arm once or twice with a pocket knife but nothing too serious. His stomach wound stayed shut, miraculously, but Peter couldn’t help but feel a bit of disappointment. The spark of pain that jolted through him when the knife sliced the skin of his left tricep was refreshing, his mind going as sharp as the knife while he took down the mugger. Peter halfheartedly prodded at the wound for the rest of the night, blood soaking through the fingers of his suit and filling the air around him with its intoxicating, metallic scent. 

Peter ended his night with a gunshot wound to the thigh. It went straight through, thankfully, and Peter didn’t even have to dig around to remove the bullet before the wound started to close. He falls asleep with his suit still tangled around his legs, tucked shirtless under his covers as he bleeds steadily into his sheets. 

Peter wakes up in a panic. His school alarm blares in his ears as he jolts awake and out of bed, squeaking out a yelp of pain as he trips over his suit and falls to the floor. May worked the night shift the previous night, so Peter groggily processes that she won’t be awake for hours. He quickly tugs off his suit and shoves it under his bed as he rips the bloody sheets from atop it. 

Peter has gotten quite good at removing blood stains from his sheets. He drags them to his bathroom, laying the sheets as flat as possible with the bloody sections in the basin. Starting the tap with cold water, Peter tiptoes into the kitchen in search of lemon juice, salt, and baking soda. Then, he stops at the medicine cabinet and snatches the hydrogen peroxide from the shelf. 

He gets back to the bathroom as the tub is halfway filled, shutting off the faucet and pouring some detergent into the tub as he sets the rest of his supplies on the ground. He sets a 30-minute timer on his phone before dragging himself back to his room, the adrenaline of being scared awake wearing off to leave him in a hazy state of exhaustion. 

The throbbing pain in his leg starts to make an appearance as the adrenaline subsides, drawing Peter’s attention back to the reason for the bloodstains on his sheets. Peter stares down at his thigh in disdain, frowning at it as he sees that the flesh hasn’t knit itself back together yet. The hole through his thigh has closed up a bit, leaving only a half-inch of gore at the entrance and exit sites. 

Absently, Peter picks at the fraying skin as he meanders around in search of the roll of gauze he left somewhere. Picking it up, he sits down on the lid of the toilet seat and hisses at the contrast of the cold porcelain in contrast with his feverish skin. Peter bandages his leg slowly, dousing it with the hydrogen peroxide to clean it and basking in the sting. His grimy fingernails hold dirt and blood beneath them, his cuticles shredded to pieces from pent-up anxiety. 

The timer goes off on Peter’s phone, the boy shocked at how quickly time has managed to crawl by as he was staring at the bullet wound. He hadn’t even had the chance to clean the knife wound on his tricep yet. 

Peter shrugs on the robe hanging from his bathroom door, deciding that standing around in a chilly apartment in just his boxers wasn’t the move. Rolling up the sleeves, he tugs the sheets out of his bathtub before unplugging the drain and clearing out the murky water. He rinses out the sheets slowly, becoming enraptured with watching the light pink water swirl down the drain. After what feels like hours, Peter grabs the still-open bottle of hydrogen peroxide from beside the toilet and pours it over the stains. The annoying voice in the back of his mind reminds him not to use too much, he can’t afford to buy another bottle. 

Once the hydrogen peroxide gets the majority of the red out of his sheets, Peter feels like giving up. He knows that there’s only one step left, barely any work at all since the supplies are right beside him, but even lifting his arms out of the tub to sink down to the floor feels like too much effort. The peroxide is making his fingers throb, soaking into his shredded cuticles and fizzling beneath his tarnished nail beds. The cold water has soaked through the tips of the sleeves of his robe, causing him to shiver even as he bundles it tighter around himself. 

_ Come on, Peter. Get it the fuck together.  _

Taking a deep breath--and ignoring the tight sting of the scar on his stomach--Peter reaches for the lemon juice and baking soda. He leaves the salt alone for now, deciding that it isn’t worth another step. 

Bony knees digging into the tile floor, Peter leans over the tub and completes the final step to his routine. The lemon juice stings even worse than the peroxide, the baking soda clumping in a way that makes his skin tighten with discomfort and overstimulation. 

Peter’s stomach clenches at the mix of scents, his head connecting with the bowl of the toilet as he throws the lid open and wretches inside. Nothing comes out, obviously. 

Peter spends the next handful of minutes with his cheek pressed to the toilet rim, breathing deeply as he gets his gagging under control. 

Scraping himself off of the floor, he rinses out his sheets and drains the tub. He shoves the supplies under his bathroom sink, knowing that May would wake up soon and deciding that it wasn’t worth it to get caught bringing blood-removing substances out of his room. Peter leaves the blankets in his tub as he stumbles into his room to get dressed. He tugs on a pair of sweatpants from his floor and the same old, worn hoodie that he keeps next to his bed. It is over 30 years old, a garment left over from Ben’s passing that Peter couldn’t stomach throwing away. 

Just as he flops onto his bed, covered only by the black comforter that he decided wasn’t worth cleaning, he hears May knock softly on his door. Fuck. 

“Peter? Honey, you still home?” May questions softly. 

“Yeah” Peter grunts out from under the comforter, dragging it with some effort to make sure it covered the fact that it was the only thing on his bed. His suit is tucked safely under his bed, the bathroom door closed tightly shut. 

The door opens slowly as May peeks her head in, her sleepy face dropping into one of concern as she sees Peter curled up in his bed. 

“Hon, you have school today. Do you feel sick?” she questions, placing her hand on his forehead. Peter knows he can’t get sick, he  _ knows  _ that, but he honestly feels like he is. “You’re burning up, baby. I’m gonna call the school, tell them you won’t be coming in today.” Peter’s eyebrows raise in shock.  _ How could he have a fever? Isn’t he immune to, like, everything now? _ He doesn’t question it, though. The ache in his bones is too strong to deny, the clenching of his empty stomach throbbing in time with the headache forming from knocking his head against the toilet. “Do you need anything? Crackers, tea?” 

Peter nods slowly, feeling guilty already for accepting any food at all. He can’t deny the sharp pains in his gut, though, and he knows that’s weak. He’s supposed to be a hero, yet here he is curled up in fetal position stealing food from his very human, very innocent aunt.  _ Selfish _ , his mind whispers hauntingly. His stomach clenches.

\---

Peter gets a text at 3:46 pm. 

**Flash: What the fuck, man?**

Peter’s stomach drops. AcaDec. He fucking missed again. 

**Peter: oh my god tell mj im so sorry im sick i didnt come to school im so sorry**

He frantically taps out his response, not even proof-reading it before he sends it. His hands start to shake again, frantically quivering as his chest rises and falls at record speed. 

Peter is so worked up that he almost misses the sound of his phone buzzing beside him, vision turning black around the edges as he struggles for oxygen. 

**Flash: Whatever. MJ’s gonna have my balls for this. She says to tell you you’re out.**

A wrecked sob escapes from Peter’s lips, his heart shattering in his chest. AcaDec has been a huge part of his life since he joined in his freshman year, it was the only thing that Peter felt he could succeed in without a struggle. It challenged him, kept him motivated, kept him feeling alive at school when nothing else would. And he  _ ruined  _ it. Just like he ruined his grades, and his friendship with Ned and MJ, and his aunt's life, and, and... His phone buzzes again. 

**Flash: I vouched for you, dickhead. Not even Ned thought you’d show your sorry ass.**

Just when Peter thought he couldn’t feel anymore heartbroken, that statement hurt worse than a shot in the leg. He would know. How could he be a good person when not even his best friend believed in him?  _ He’s the worst _ . 

Peter spends the next hour sobbing on and off, May looking scared out of her mind when she walks in to see him curled up with his head between his knees and tears streaming down his face. She perches on the edge of his bed, wrapping her arms around him and shushing him as he stutters out what happened through broken sobs. 

May stiffens at the news, her hands halting in their path across his back. “They kicked you out?” she asks softly, her tone shaky and confused. Peter nods into her shoulder. “I’m not gonna lie, Peter, I’m disappointed in you. What’s been going on with you? First your grades drop, now you’re out of Academic Decathlon?” she takes a harsh tone with him, words sharp and angry. Peter just cries more. “That’s it. No more Stark Internship.” 

Peter’s heart stops. While he hadn’t seen Tony in a while, he knew that the Tower would be a safe place for him should he ever need somewhere to go. If May doesn’t let him go to the “internship,” he loses his safe space. 

“May no, please-” Peter starts, pulling away and staring at May in shock. 

“No, Peter, I’m not gonna hear it. We aren’t having this discussion now, you can talk to me when you pull your grades up.” May’s words are final. No room for argument. 

“Please, I-I don’t… I can’t,” Peter stammers. 

“You are a smart boy, Peter. You’ll figure it out.” While her words aren’t especially painful, her tone was. She was done with him, he was just a burden at this point. 

Peter can only hear ringing in his ears from that point on, his eyes burning and chest heaving as May leaves him to sob into his pillow. Absently, his overgrown nails dig into his upper arms as he cradles his legs to his chest. The sharp heat of the knife wound beneath his fingertips grounds him, directing his attention away from his speeding mind and back to the physical realm. 

Before he can even process what he’s doing, Peter digs his fingers into the slash until the wet, oozing flesh reaches his first knuckle. He heaves into his right elbow, his injured left arm shooting down by his side as he grips the tricep forcefully. His left hand grips the comforter below him so forcefully that he hears a slight tear, the fabric giving way so his nails dig almost directly into his palm. Peter’s vision goes white at the edges, nausea creeping up his throat as he feels a stark contrast between his body’s cold sweat and the hot, throbbing pain in his left arm. 

Even as Peter finds his body screaming for a release, for him to just let go, his mind coaxes him to  _ hold tighter _ . 

\---

The weekend passes before Peter’s eyes in a blur. His sheets are back on the bed, cold and half-wet still beneath his body. He spends the days in bed anyway, getting up only to use the bathroom and fetch different books and supplies for his homework. Peter hyper-focuses on school, catching up on old and overdue assignments even though he knows the majority of his teachers won’t count them. He gets ahead in every class, eyes burning and bloodshot as he forces himself to stay awake. 

He belatedly remembers walking in on Tony in the workshop after one of his binges, marveling at his mentor’s crazed expression and twitchy features from a lack of sleep. Peter giggles, realizing that at the very least he’s emulating his hero in one way. Better than nothing… right? 

Peter passes out around 3 am on Sunday, setting an alarm for 7 the next morning and pressing his face into the musty pillowcase that he hasn’t changed in weeks. At least he isn’t prone to acne. 

\---

Peter sleeps through chemistry. Again. He was doing so well today, too. He made it through history and Spanish, not exactly paying attention but at least faking it decently well. It caught up to him in chemistry, though. 

The thing is, Peter learned this shit months ago. Tony gave him some reading after they started working together and Peter flew through it all in no time, the  _ grayness  _ of everything not having hit him yet as the teen was full of energy and excitement for the world and all of its  _ useless, meaningless _ possibilities. So, Peter’s brain shuts off. He falls asleep. He gets yelled at by Harrison. He wants to fucking scream. Or maybe burst into tears. 

Ned looks away, disappointed, as Peter frantically searches for his gaze. The other boy has been silent around him today, awkwardly trailing next to Peter with his attention focused solely on his phone. 

The only source of normalcy, the only fucking redeeming factor of his day, is somehow Flash. 

Peter hates being yelled at from across the halls, he hates Flash’s incessant use of graphic nicknames, and he fucking hates Flash. It’s kind of nice to feel something, once in a while. Even if it’s hatred. 

“Penis, heard you fainted in chemistry today. Sniff a bit too much glue?” Flash’s insults barely make sense at this point. 

“Shut up, Flash,” Peter mumbles, keeping his eyes on the floor. He hears Flash bark out a laugh, watches his weird-ass expensive sneakers waltz closer to him. 

“What did you say to me, Penis?” Flash gets up in Peter’s face, his chest just inches away from Peter’s own. The other boy flinches back at the proximity, knocking the back of his head against the lockers behind him. Peter feels his heart racing in his chest and wonders if Flash can feel it too. 

“I said shut up, Flash,” Peter repeats, his voice shaking as he forces out the words with minimal confidence. 

“You’d better watch your fucking mouth, Parker, or you’ll be seeing those poor, dead parents of yours again soon,” Flash grits out, bringing one firm finger up to shove into Peter’s chest before turning and swaggering away. He high fives one of his brain dead friends, laughing about how he just bested the pathetic orphan boy. 

Peter’s head swims as his hand absently raises to flatten itself against his chest, right where Flash touched him. He feels his heart racing, wonders if Flash could feel it too. 

This is a panic attack. 

Peter tries to remember what Tony taught him months ago after Peter had his very first panic attack since elementary school, attempting to focus on his breathing and count slowly. One, two, three, four, out, two.. his breath hitches. Get it together. In, two, the air rushes out from his lungs. Peter can feel eyes on him as he struggles to breathe, his legs going shaky and his vision narrowing at the edges. He feels his hand scrape against the cold metal of the lockers behind him as he rushes to his bathroom. 

The door slams shut behind him, causing a full-body flinch to shock through him. He sinks to the floor, knees to his chest with his elbows resting on top of them. Peter’s shaking hands rush to grasp at his ears, sweaty palms flat against them as his fingers weave through his hair. He hasn’t gotten a haircut in ages, so it’s long enough to tug. The dull scrape of his nails against his scalp allows Peter’s chest to inflate just enough to get a breath in. 

In a moment of crazed clarity, Peter makes a connection. The pain helps him breathe. 

Peter digs his fingers into his hair with renewed vigor, chest burning as he yanks at his overgrown locks. His jaw clenches roughly to avoid making noise, the bitter taste of blood flooding his mouth as his teeth knick his tongue. 

Peter’s head stops swimming, his vision sharpening like it did when he was first bitten. The pain helps. Frantically, chasing the clear-headedness that he hasn’t felt in weeks, Peter does the only thing he can think to do--he digs his nails into the knife wounds on his left tricep. After a few agonizing seconds, Peter's fingers are blood-stained and his breathing is even. He huffs in discontent at the mangled wound on his arm, too drained to do anything more than dab at it with some scratchy paper towels and shrug his sleeve back up. Peter has just gotten to his feet when the door to the bathroom swings open, startling him. Apparently, he never locked it when he ran inside. 

“Fuck, didn’t know someone was in here, sor-” Peter turns around at the familiar voice. Fuck. “Parker?” Flash fucking Thompson is staring open-mouthed at Peter. “Yo, what the fuck is up with your hand?” Flash exclaims. 

Peter looks down at his hand, internally kicking himself as he sees bright red blood coating the fingertips of his right hand. 

“Nothing, get out,” Peter attempts to shield his panic with annoyance. 

“Not my fault you don’t know how to lock a fucking door, man,” Flash says. It lacks its usual bite, though, as Flash’s voice has gone soft and his eyes remain locked on Peter’s hand. He still doesn’t leave. 

“Flash, get out,” Peter reiterates with new vigor. The other boy nods, seemingly attempting to physically shake himself out of his shock. He closes the door behind him and Peter scrambles to lock it, cursing under his breath as he gets streaks of blood on the door handle. He wipes it off with the same paper towel he used to mop up the blood on his arm before throwing it away and turning to vigorously wash his hands. Flakes of fast-drying blood scrape uncomfortably out from beneath his nails and swirl down the drain like leaves floating down a river of pink. 

When Peter leaves the bathroom, Flash is still waiting outside. He’s staring at the ground between his feet, large hands twisting around one another as he nervously waits for the other boy to leave. Peter is taken aback by how worried Flash looks, but he also realizes that having literal blood on his hands might make him look crazy. He probably managed to scare Flash without even revealing anything about his powers. 

The taller boy doesn’t even look up as Peter shoves past him timidly. 

\--- 

Peter gets a text at 6:37 that night. 

**Flash: You missed the test review in Spanish. It’s all multiple choice and one short answer on the subjunctive.**

_ What the fuck? _

**Peter: what**

**Flash: Don’t make this weird.**

_ WHAT? Don’t make  _ what  _ weird?  _

Peter feels like he’s entered an alternate universe. Just hours ago, Flash was taunting him for his dead parents, now he’s sending him updates on what he missed during his bullying-induced panic attack? How does that add up? Is this some kind of test? Is he, like, terrified of Peter or something now? What the literal fuck? 

**Peter: thanks**

**Flash: Whatever. Learn to stay awake.**

Peter spends the rest of the night staring at the conversation, eyes unfocusing slowly and causing his phone to look like a brick of confusing and annoying light. Why the fuck is Flash acting like this? He is the only one who has texted Peter in days, nobody else has even cared that Peter was missing class and AcaDec and whatever the hell else Peter forgot about. It’s not like he and Flash have ever been friends, or even talked at all outside of school. Peter wouldn’t even know where Flash got his number if not for the AcaDec group chat that they created before going to D.C. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the sudden chapter ending! I have so much left to write but this was the best stopping point I could come up with, I'll post again as soon as finals are through! This is turning out far more angsty than I imagined, but I'm falling in love with this storyline...


	5. Sick Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! After a completely shitty finals week, I'm finally back! Stay tuned for another chapter update VERY soon. Thank you all for the love and support!

For the rest of the week, Peter gets no text messages from Flash. He stays awake for every class they have together, staring at the back of Flash’s head and debating whether, if he focuses hard enough, he could read the other boy’s mind. 

The bullying has started to decrease in heat, slowly transforming from dead mom jokes into subtle jabs at Peter’s appearance and personal qualities. He doesn’t know if he’s more grateful or insulted. 

Between mind-numbing days at school and stealing from local garbage bins, Peter finds the time to go out as Spidey on Thursday evening. He stops a couple routine New York muggings, feeling useless and dreary as he climbs into his bedroom window well before midnight with only a couple of bruises to show for himself. He nostalgically thinks back to the days when coming home with bruises felt like a failure in itself, when he didn’t know any better than to prioritize his own well-being in a fight. He feels a little glimmer of pride in himself, realizing that as selfish as he still is, he’s managed to trample that narcissistic habit. 

\--- 

It’s Tuesday and Peter hates himself. How the fuck does a mutant manage to break their fucking leg fighting a human? Life is so fucking unfair. 

Peter dragged himself into his window and nearly screamed as pain shot up through his right leg, cursing himself for forgetting and swinging through the window to land on his dominant side. He doesn’t have the energy or pain tolerance to do anything more than change out of his suit and into his most comfortable, ratty T-shirt before struggling onto his bed. Thankfully, only a small bit of bone is poking through the skin of his shin. Peter rolls up a towel from his floor and fits it snugly between his teeth before taking a deep breath, setting his hands crossed one-over-the-other on top of the bone, and pushing. He shoves the bone back into place as a guttural scream escapes his throat and tangles itself within the fabric of the towel. 

Peter wipes his hands against his shirt as he watches the skin try and fail to knit itself back together. His stomach growls. He goes to sleep. 

He doesn’t wake up until halfway through Wednesday. May is too worried to be pissed. 

Peter squints at May as she shakes his shoulder, wincing as it jostles his injured leg and her manicured nails scrape against a barely-clothed stab wound. He feels his stomach clench around nothing and wonders when the last time he even ate was. 

“Pete, are you ok?” May asks, her voice sounding shrill and panicked. 

Peter tries to nod and feels his head go swampy-foggy-weird. 

“Peter, this is the second time in the past couple of weeks that you’ve been sick. Do I need to bring you to the doctor, baby?” Peter’s heart rate skyrockets. 

“No! No, no doctor, I swear I’m ok,” Peter urges, shoving himself into a sitting position with his arms shaking noticeably under his bodyweight. 

May looks unconvinced but, under Peter’s scared gaze, she caves. She always knew that Peter had a shaky relationship with health professionals, but this level of panic hadn’t shown on his face since he was in elementary school. She prays he isn’t about to have an episode. “Ok, honey,” she whispers. She pushes his hair out of his face as he settles back against his pillow, heart clenching at the look on each of their faces. “I’ll call the school.” 

\---

Peter spends the next 4 days in bed. The skin of his leg doesn’t heal for two full days, the bone not mending itself for another two. It probably should have been longer before Peter stood up, but May was starting to get worried. It didn’t help that the last time Peter stayed in bed this long was… well… not his best point in life. Both he and May were eclipsed by memories of that time, her mind filled with endless questions of _why_ and his filled with self-deprecation. 

On the bright (ish?) side, Peter has at least been eating relatively regularly. The Italian in May has been driving her to cook more than usual with her boy in such a state, meaning that Peter has been showered in nearly enough food to keep his metabolism half-satisfied. His stomach is so used to clenching around nothing that the warm broth and flaky homemade bread is a godsend. While Peter isn’t actually sick, the comfort food feels like a warm blanket against his raging mind. 

He wakes up sometime on Saturday afternoon to the sound of his phone buzzing against his bedside table. Without even moving from his fetal position, Peter’s arm shoots out to grab his phone before retreating back under his blankets. He shoots up in bed when he sees what the notification is. 

Flash? 

**Flash: Finally drop out, Penis?**

Peter flinches at the nickname but otherwise doesn’t feel the same sting he usually gets at Flash’s attitude. Maybe it’s because it’s just a text. 

**Peter: very funny flash. just sick.**

**Flash: Again? Seems a little suspicious, Parker. Don’t tell me, you’re on a “Stark Internship Retreat.”**

Even when Flash is trying to be sarcastic, he still uses perfect capitalization. Annoying, pretentious bastard. 

**Peter: nope, no more stark internship**

He immediately regrets sending the text. Flash isn’t one of his (fast-fading) friends, one of his buddies that he can just share shit like this with. He doesn’t fucking care. If anything, he’ll use it as an excuse to bully Peter about something even closer to home. 

**Flash: Not going to pretend to be Stark’s little bitch anymore? At least now I know you aren’t genuinely delusional.**

That’s… not as bad as he expected, honestly. Was the second part a backhanded compliment? 

**Peter: it’s whatever. why’d you text**

Peter stares at his phone for what feels like hours, watching the three little dots at the bottom of his screen appear and disappear over and over. Did he say something wrong? That seemed like a reasonable question in his opinion. 

**Flash: I was going through idiot withdrawal, Leeds is far too easy a target. It’s boring.**

Peter somehow feels flattered. Unknown giddiness bubbles up within his chest, his eyebrows quirking as his lips twitch slightly upward. 

**Peter: just look in a mirror, flash, youll find your idiot**

**Flash: Screw you, Parker, my IQ is almost as big as my dick.**

Peter barks out a sharp laugh, caught off guard by Flash’s vulgarity. Typing on instinct, Peter knows he’s in trouble. 

**Peter: my condolences**

**Flash: Shut up. Aren’t you like a straight B student now, slacker?**

Peter’s heart lurches a bit at the reminder. He really has to pull his grades up. 

**Peter: low blow dude**

**Flash: Maybe if you actually came to school you’d know what was going on.**

**Peter: why would i do that when i have you to tell me what i missed. sounds like youre the slacker**

**Flash: Ok Mister “I’m going to miss 3 biology worksheets, a Spanish test, and a chemistry lab.”**

Peter smiles softly. Flash just told him what he missed, in his own asshole way.

**Peter: see that wasnt so hard**

**Peter: thanks**

**Flash: Just show up on Monday, Parker. I’m done playing messenger pigeon.**

The teen giggles a bit at the strange reference. Sometimes, he forgets that Flash is just as much of a nerd as he is. As much of an asshole as Flash is, he’s never been a jock or a meathead. 

Peter spends the rest of his weekend resting and catching up on homework, knowing the monotony of his life will come rushing right back on Monday. For now, though, he basks in May’s gentle touches and the glow of his phone as he reads and rereads Flash’s texts. 

\--- 

Flash doesn’t speak to him at all on Monday. He catches the other boy glaring at him throughout class, one time his body was fully turned around in his chair so he could see Peter from the front of the room. Peter avoids eye contact every time, confused about why Flash is acting like such an asshole after being so… tolerable… Saturday. 

Peter has never been confrontational. So, when the day comes and goes without a single comment from Flash, Peter simply does nothing. He goes about his day like normal, getting through his classes with minimum attention and trying to keep his mind quiet. His stomach, as well, is uncharacteristically loud today. 

Peter spent the weekend better-fed than he had been in weeks, even managing to feel full for one blissful minute on Sunday after May brought him a Happy Meal when he told her he was feeling better. Now, though, Peter has gone nearly 17 hours without food and his stomach is protesting violently. Peter keeps one arm clenched around it at all times, trying to squeeze the hunger out of it. He feels a mix of satisfaction and fear as his fingers dig into the still-sore scar on his abdomen to feel something other than the hunger pangs that have been wracking his frame since that morning. 

The school-provided chicken nuggets and runny mac and cheese sit in his groaning stomach like a brick. They give him no relief, the grease making him feel queasy and gross. He can’t stop eating them, though, and scrapes his place clean in record time. He’s used to Ned’s concerned looks by now, but feels a bit of despair as Ned seems to have grown used to the situation as well. The other teen doesn’t bat an eye. 

Peter escapes to his bathroom during the second half of his lunch period, locking the door firmly and gripping the sink with shaky hands. He takes deep, quick breaths as he tries to calm his churning stomach. _Don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t waste it. Stop being ungrateful. Don’t puke._

Peter feels his head grow light and murky, using a quivering hand to slowly turn the tap and splash cool water against his face. Peter finally looks up as his vision clears, staring into his own dead eyes in the mirror. He looks terrible. His eyes are cradled by dark circles that look nearly purple, the whites of his eyes looking nearly gray. His hands haven’t stopped shaking in days, at this point Peter thinks they never will. Despite the water he just splashed on his face, Peter’s lips are dry and cracked. 

To make matters worse, Peter doesn’t think his arm wound will ever truly close. Since his realization in the bathroom days prior, he has been gripping that spot every time panic infiltrates his mind. Which is quite often. The once thin cut has been mangled into a shallow cavern, nearly half an inch wide and jagged at the edges. Peter pulls out his bag and re-bandages it, gritting his teeth as he watches his fingers fumble with the tape. _Useless._

Peter busts up the bandaging not even two hours later in chemistry. He couldn’t answer Harrison’s question, too focussed on trying to read Flash’s mind to even hear what it was. The thing that really causes him to cave, though, is when Flash doesn’t even make fun of him for it. The sound of his own breathing becomes unbearable, so he grips at his arm and holds his breath. Flash looks annoyed. 

After a whole day of being ignored, one can imagine how confused Peter feels when he gets a text from Flash not even an hour after school ends. 

**Flash: Harrison is assigning a group lab project, not that you would know. We’re partners.**

Is that what Harrison asked him? 

**Peter: ok when do we start**

**Flash: Tomorrow. Show up.**

Peter flinches a bit. Yeah, he’s gotten a bit flaky; but, in his defense, he literally couldn’t walk for three days last week. 

**Peter: promise**

Flash Thompson fucking “loves” his message. Not the little thumbs up, no, the fucking _heart_. 


	6. Of Crushes and Feeling Crushed

Peter is so utterly fucked. Maybe it’s his complete lack of socialization for the past month or so, maybe it’s because finding out Tony was bi fucked with his perception of masculinity and sexuality, maybe it’s because the universe hates him, but Peter cannot fucking stop staring at Flash.  _ Has he always been this… cute?  _

Flash is so different from anyone Peter has ever had a crush on. With the exception of his devastating crush on Bucky when they first met, they have all also been notably female. Flash’s hazel eyes glimmer when he talks about chemistry, passion invading his voice as he describes the lab. Peter forces himself to pay attention to the other boy’s words, knowing that he has to pull his weight in the lab itself. 

“Are you even listening?” Flash asks, frustrated. 

“Y-yeah, I'm listening,” Peter stutters out. _Why is he blushing so hard?_

“Ok, good. So, first we’re gonna-” Flash continues to blabber on about the lab as Peter starts to busy himself organizing all of their materials. His hands shake and the glass of the beakers clinks shrilly together. Flash rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop talking.  _ He has really nice lips.  _

The first day of their lab goes surprisingly well, with Flash doing most of the physical work and Peter writing out their observations and calculations. They started off with opposite roles, as Flash is generally more comfortable with chemistry while Peter does better at physics, but Peter’s shaky hands quickly reversed that decision. 

Flash had to physically grab Peter’s hand only minutes into the experiment, his larger hand wrapping around Peter’s trembling wrist as he struggled to pipette the liquid into the test tube. “Dude, are you on Adderall or something?” Flash asks, grabbing the supplies from between Peter’s fingers and finishing the job himself. 

Peter forgot how to speak English. He shakes his head. His wrist is really warm. 

“Whatever, man, let’s trade. Write down what I tell you to,” Flash says absentmindedly, his attention returning to the lab. Peter nods and picks up the pencil on the desk, still warm from Flash’s hand. 

Soon, Peter’s scrawling handwriting fills over a page of their lab report and Flash has sped through their first day’s work. They make a surprisingly good team, Flash throwing offhand jabs at Peter through streams of chemistry jargon and Peter making a point not to blush at the attention. As rude as his statements sound, Peter has noticed that they lack their usual bite and almost come across as…  _ fond _ ? 

“You’re not as useless at chemistry as I thought, Parker,” Flash states as they start to clean up their lab space. 

“Thanks,” Peter mumbles. He grabs two of the beakers from their station and brings them to the sink where Flash has been washing the test tubes. He hesitates. The sink is a big basin, large enough for two students to fit side by side with little discomfort; but, he and Flash aren’t just two students. They’re, like, rivals or whatever. 

Flash rolls his eyes and scoots half an inch to the side, giving Peter an exaggerated nod to join him. Now Peter is definitely blushing. He slides in next to Flash, the two of them washing their supplies in silence. At one point, Flash’s elbow knocks into Peter’s and Peter flinches. He didn’t really mean to, but the contact startled him so hard that he nearly dropped the beakers. Peter’s glance locked on his hands while he feels Flash’s eyes burning into his skin. Then, the moment passes. Peter takes a breath. His left arm throbs and Peter desperately wants to dig his fingers into it. 

“I’m gonna do some research tonight on the shit we’re supposed to do tomorrow, I’ll send you what I find,” Flash says absently as he walks away. Peter doesn’t realize until the other boy has left the classroom that Flash basically said  _ “I’ll text you.” _

\--- 

It’s like a dam has broken. For the rest of the week, Peter and Flash exchange snarky text messages nonstop. It starts off with Flash’s texts regarding their lab, his thinly veiled excitement on the topic seeping through even over technology. Over the span of a few days, however, the conversation moves away from chemistry and toward random topics. 

They discuss Flash’s plans to attend Harvard and Peter’s dream to follow in Tony’s footsteps at MIT. Flash relentlessly makes fun of him for modeling his life after a man he’s “never met” and Peter fires back that MIT has a better STEM program no matter what. They argue for hours about the value of literature in STEM, with Flash debating that language and classics play more of a role and Peter asserting that English comprehension is more important. 

Peter pesters Flash about the goings-on of AcaDec in his absence and Flash reluctantly informs him that the gang will be going to L.A. over the summer. Peter feels his chest ache at the exclusion but texts Flash a cheery response to hide it, telling the other boy to vlog it for him and barely joking. 

In school, the two boys maintain their arguing and constant insult exchange. Peter found out early into their “friendship” that Flash is far more insecure than he seems. The other boy let it slip on Thursday night that he was getting shit from his friends for “going easy” on Peter and the next day, Peter made a point to dress as terribly as possible. Flash’s face lit up when he saw the other boy, throwing insults left and right about Peter’s pun shirt and the ugly off-green flannel that he wore on top. He made fun of Peter’s ratty shoes, which Peter didn’t exactly wear on purpose, but the thought still counted in his mind. _It’s not like it was hard for him to be an easy target_ , he thought self-deprecatingly. 

\---

While things in Peter’s life seemed to be looking up with Flash’s extreme decrease in antagonism, all of the other aspects of his life were.. Well, fucked. After taking care of Peter for half of the last week, May was working double- and triple-shifts at the hospital. She was coming home at strange hours, dark circles under her eyes beginning to match Peter’s. She was more irritable than usual and, on Tuesday night, she let it slip how frustrated she was with how much Peter ate the last week. She was complaining about their lack of non-perishables, wondering aloud how Peter managed to consume their entire supply of canned soup. Peter wished he could disappear. 

He spent the rest of Tuesday night thinking about food. How much he wants it, how much he missed it, how much he wished he could live without it. Peter hates making May suffer, he hates being a burden to her when she didn’t even ask for him in the first place. Peter wonders how little he has to eat before he can disappear into thin air. He wonders how many days he can go without good, now that he’s a mutant. He questions how thin he has to get before his bones start to poke through his nearly translucent skin, how many meals he can skip before his hair starts to fall out. He experiments each night, staring at his vigilante-induced wounds and watching his body struggle to keep itself functioning on an empty, clenching stomach. He starts to catalog how much he eats each day, writing down every scrap of food he manages to acquire without May’s detriment. His wrist cramps late on a Friday night, a small bruise forming where the bone digs into his journal each night. He’s so tired. He skips his Friday run to the Whole Foods dumpster for the second week in a row. 

Tuesday: half bagel, 1 slice of pizza and applesauce at school, water 

Wednesday: 1 apple, 1 scoop mac and cheese 

Thursday: 1 hamburger no toppings 

Friday: 1 bag of chips, half bagel

Saturday: 

Sunday: ½ granola bar from sidewalk 

\---

After two days filled with sink water and half of a granola bar he found on the sidewalk, Peter knows that Monday is going to suck. He realizes far too late that he slept through Halloween, which used to be his favorite holiday. Now, it’s just another day. Peter used to love watching shitty movies with Ned, bingeing on candy and pretending to make fun of the popular kids at house parties when they were actually just jealous. Now, Peter wakes up to Snapchat stories of the same parties. Ned was at Betty’s house with her and MJ. Peter wasn’t invited. He doesn’t blame them. 

  
  


His lab with Flash ended last Friday and the other boy didn’t text him at all for the duration of the entire weekend. Peter wonders how much of their conversations were just courtesy of Flash trying to get an A.

“Hey Parker, nice shoes!” Peter hears Flash yell from across the hallway. Peter glances down at his tattered sneakers. Chest sinking as he realizes Flash is making fun of him for real again. The shoes are a repeat-offender in Flash’s book, held together by dark blue duct tape and stains. Peter doesn’t look back up until he takes his seat in class. 

_ He never liked me, he was just being decent so I would work with him on the lab. Someone like him would never actually want to be around someone like me. He’s actually perfect: good grades, two very much alive parents, enough money to eat whatever he wants. I’m just a mutant freak with nothing going for me. At this rate, I won’t even get into MIT. Mr. Stark is probably so disappointed in me.  _

Peter spends the rest of the day in a blur, blocking out Flash’s jabs and keeping his eyes down. He digs his fingers into his arm every time his stomach squeezes around nothing, the distraction growing more and more dull as Peter allowed the wound to heal last week. He briefly debates reopening it himself, immediately feeling sick with guilt when he realizes what he just thought. He should be grateful that he can heal in record time, reopening a wound for no reason is just selfish. He’s just gonna have to wait until he gets another. 

\---

Peter passes out for the first time in weeks that night. He refuses to call it fainting, that sounds too weak. He knows he’s weak. Peter finds himself on the floor in a heap after standing to get his suit on, not waking up until nearly 3 the next morning. He dry heaves into his arms, too weak to push himself up from the floor for another hour. Tears stain his cheeks as he sobs quietly, shoving a fist into his mouth to bite down on it. Blood coats his tongue and Peter just sobs harder at the relief it brings. He hates himself for salivating at the taste. 

When Peter manages to sit, then stand up, he shuffles aimlessly to the bathroom. Gulping greedily at the water that flows from his creaky faucet, Peter hates himself more than he could imagine. His hands shake aggressively as he removes his shirts to reveal his tortured torso. He can count his ribs, his once muscle-coated stomach now concave and quivering. Peter doesn’t even feel relieved at the sight, knowing that he is wasting away with every breath. He never wanted to lose weight. He never wanted to lose  _ anythinganyoneeverything _ . He just wanted to be less of a burden. Now he’s just…  _ less _ . 

The scar on his stomach shines pinky-white against his skin, spanning nearly half of his lower abdomen. It is raised nearly a half-inch above his translucent skin, protruding nearly as far out as his ribs do. Peter pokes it and it doesn’t even ache. 


	7. Two Types of Chemistry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for your comments and support! 
> 
> I know you all want to see Tony.... but there's gonna be a bit of a wait on that. I swear he'll show up, but Peter needs time to become independent and at least mildly... self-sufficient, in the only ways he knows how. Until then, please enjoy the subtle hints that Peter makes toward his mentor (and the love of my life).

As much as Peter appreciated the hours of uninterrupted sleep last night, courtesy of his bout of unconsciousness, he did not appreciate how it affected his schoolwork. Peter managed to complete one assignment yesterday, a stupid math worksheet that he literally might have done in his sleep. He skates by in English and History with minimal issue, citing a headache when his sweet English teacher asks. His history teacher doesn’t even give him a second glance. 

The rest of his classes, however, are far less laid back. Harrison gives him shit for not doing his chemistry worksheet and Flash turns his entire fucking body around in his desk to watch. Gloating bastard. His Spanish teacher might have literally cursed him out in another language, but he’d have to understand more than the basics to actually confirm it. Of course, Flash watches that, too. 

As bitchy as Flash was acting while the teachers were looking, he actually held a conversation with Peter in chemistry. 

“What the fuck happened, Parker?” Flash asks him out of the blue as the two are sat in dead silence at their lab table. While the lab is technically over, the two boys both prefer to spread out over a table rather than at a small desk. Peter is too tired to move, though he wishes he didn’t have to see Flash after their interactions earlier. 

“What?” Peter asks, genuinely confused. 

“The homework, dumbass,” Flash retorts. Peter almost thinks he can see the other boy blushing. 

“Just didn’t feel like it, I guess,” Peter lies. His left hand refuses to stop shaking no matter how hard he clenches it. 

“Bullshit,” Flash states. Peter balks. “You know I’m right, Parker. What’s your fucking deal?”

Peter ponders for a second.  _ I don’t know, lifetime bully, maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten a meal in four days and I have a frisbee-sized scar healing on my stomach and I broke my leg last week. Oh, and I have a knife wound crusting over on my arm _ . 

“Tired, I guess,” he decides. 

Flash looks like he wants to say something but holds back, nodding as something just shy of annoyance covers his features. They spend the rest of the class in silence, only interrupted by the occasional stomach growl on Peter’s behalf. He’s too tired to be embarrassed. 

\---

**Flash: Do your homework.**

Peter nearly throws his phone when the message comes through at 10 pm. 

**Peter: seriously dude**

Peter slips out of his suit and ducks into the shower, rinsing off and scrubbing the grime of patrol from his skin. When he gets out, he has three missed notifications. 

**Flash: Yes, seriously.**

**Flash: I can’t have my lab partner failing chemistry, it’s embarrassing.**

**Flash: Don’t ignore me, Parker.**

Peter giggles. Flash is kind of needy.  _ It’s cute. _ He shakes his head,  _ none of that tonight.  _

**Peter: i was showering asshole**

**Peter: better get to it then id hate to embarrass my genius partner**

At this point, Peter is done questioning why Flash texts him. Maybe he’s bored, maybe he’s nosey, Peter doesn’t really care. All Peter knows is that the notifications make his heart skip a beat and he feels just a little bit less lonely basking in the glow of his phone’s screen. 

Three dots dance across Peter’s screen for nearly an entire minute as Flash types. Peter’s chest aches as he watches them, wondering what he said wrong. Should he not have mentioned showering? Did the compliment feel too genuine? Does he… know? Peter doesn’t even know what he thinks Flash knows, whether it’s Spidey or his big fat crush he doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know which one he’d prefer.

**Flash: If you’re having trouble with any of the problems you can ask me.**

_ What?  _

_ Seriously, what?  _

Peter is floored. That’s… nice. It’s helpful, it’s caring, it’s not something a bully would say. Peter is so fucking confused. 

**Peter: ...thanks?**

**Flash: Don’t make this weird.**

**Peter: noted**

**Peter: i honestly havent even started**

**Peter: but i guess ill let you know?**

**Flash: Holy shit you really are such a dumbass. Start your fucking homework it’s like 11 at night.**

**Peter: ok ok im going**

Peter takes out his chemistry textbook. He was ready to give up just 20 minutes ago, yet now he’s sitting down at his desk for the first time in days to actually do homework. This is the Twilight Zone. 

Ok, so Peter might be a little behind in chemistry. 

**Peter: hey uh were you serious about asking for help**

**Peter: cause what the literal fuck is chapter 7**

Peter waits for six minutes with sweaty hands and a racing heart as he waits for Flash to respond.  _ Was this a joke? Now he looks like an idiot. _

**Flash: Yes. Hang on.**

Oh. Okay. 

**Flash: [image.jpg]**

**Flash: These are my notes from today.**

**Peter: thanks !!!!!!**

**Flash: You’d think I just donated an organ, Jesus, Parker. It’s chill.**

Peter smiles. Maybe he’ll be okay. 

\---

Flash spends the next two and a half weeks helping Peter with chemistry. The two text nearly every night, Flash sending his chemistry notes with little jerky annotations that Peter learns are aimed directly at him. Flash has basically started writing him notes in class. He tries not to let his heart skip a beat, though he fails each time. 

With every passing day, Peter’s crush grows stronger. Flash gets more comfortable with him over text, sending him shitty little voice memos to tease Peter about his complete and utter confusion. His dark skin flushes beautifully when Peter compliments his chemistry knowledge, the other boy ducking his head to try to hide it. 

Flash has also started eating in chemistry. The class lies in the middle of the day, right after their unsatisfyingly meager school-provided lunch. Flash is probably just hungry because of the absolute shit that they feed the students, or maybe he's just bored as shit; but, for some reason, he starts bringing snacks to chemistry class. 

At first, Peter just stares. He tries not to, he swears, but the food is just _right there_ and Peter is so, _so_ hungry. Flash must notice, a few days into it, and he starts to offer chips or pieces of his granola bars to Peter like it’s nothing. As if he isn’t offering Peter a lifeline, as if Peter deserves anyone else’s sustenance. Peter declines, for two days, before he gives in. By the end of the first week, Peter is taking chips from Flash’s outstretched hand without a second glance. By the middle of the second week, Flash has started to bring a duplicate of his snacks and dropping them in front of Peter without a word. 

On the first day, Peter tries to decline the duplicate snack. Guilt from eating even a part of Flash's food had been eating away at him for the past few days, churning with the endless hunger in his gut as he tries not to cry at the sound of Flash’s granola bar wrapper tearing. Flash just glares at him, saying something about “not letting it go to waste,” and suddenly Peter feels even more guilty for trying to decline the extra food. He doesn’t try to reject it again, and Flash grants him a small smile each time Peter accepts one of his strange offerings with shaky hands. 

They sit closer together at the lab table, now, knees nearly touching when Flash man-spreads to impress the girls in the class. Peter tries not to flinch away. Sometimes, he doesn't fail. 


	8. Adventures in FaceTime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An upgrade from texting to FaceTime, ft. Peter's Angst and a glimpse into Flash's home life
> 
> As always thank y'all for your support, and keep those comments coming!!

At 8 pm on November 19th, Peter gets a FaceTime call from Flash. 

It takes him nearly 30 seconds to answer. Thankfully, Peter hasn’t left for patrol yet and is still wearing normal clothes. He sits cross-legged on his bed and tries not to hyperventilate. 

“Flash?” Peter asks, holding the phone strategically so he doesn’t look like he has 38 chins. 

“No, it’s Oprah,” Flash snarks out, glaring at the screen. Peter giggles before he can help himself. 

“Wow, I’m honored,” he gasps. 

“Shut up, Parker,” Flash says. Peter starts to think it’s his new catch-phrase. 

“So, uh, why did you call?” Peter asks after a beat of extraordinarily awkward silence. 

“I got tired of explaining chemistry over text. Plus I wanted to see the stupid look on your face while I tried to nail this shit through your head,” Flash says, tilting his phone so Peter can only see his forehead and the ceiling above him. Peter blushes all the way down his chest. He tries not to think of the unintentional euphemism behind _ “see your face”  _ and  _ “nail. _ ” “So, you ready?” Flash asks. 

“Oh, uh, gimme a second,” Peter stammers, untangling his legs to rush and find his now-bountiful chemistry notes. He hears Flash sigh exaggeratedly over the phone. It comes out a little tinny, but still cute. “Ok, ready,” Peter says as he settles back down and props his phone up on a stray textbook. 

“Ok, so-” Flash starts to explain. The two boys work together for nearly an hour even though they are already ahead of the class at this point. They surpassed the class’ curriculum last week and spent the past week learning whatever Flash wanted. Peter was just happy for any excuse to keep talking to the boy, really any excuse to keep talking to  _ anyone _ . Flash has this uncanny ability to fight off the loneliness that has settled in Peter’s bones, even for just a minute. Plus, Peter has started implementing some of what Flash has taught him into improving his suit and web-shooters. Now that he isn’t working with Mr. Stark, he needs to keep his suit up to par on his own. Can’t have his laziness getting in the way of protecting his city...

“Alright, if I hear anything else about bonds or whatever I’m gonna rip my hair out,” Peter says when Flash gets to a stopping point. If he’s honest, he stopped paying attention nearly five minutes ago; instead, he’s been doodling and listening to Flash talk. He’s trying to memorize the upturn of Flash’s voice when he’s excited, the breathy chuckle he lets out when he makes an accidental science pun, the teasing yet encouraging tone of his voice as he pokes fun at Peter for falling behind. 

“Weak, Parker,” Flash states but doesn’t protest. Peter hears shuffling for a minute before the scenery behind Flash changes. The boy must have moved to sit on his own bed, because now a beautiful wooden headboard frames his face as he holds Peter head-high to talk. Peter realizes that he fucked up when he realizes that Flash is going to hang up on him if they don’t keep talking about chemistry. Don’t blow this, Peter urges himself. 

“So, uh, how was your Halloween?” Peter asks. 

“Parker, it’s been like three weeks since Halloween,” Flash states.  _ Fuck _ . 

“Yeah, uh, yeah. Sorry,” Peter stumbles over his words.  _ Blew it _ . 

“It was good,” Peter hears after a second.  _ Thank God _ . 

“G-good! Uh,” Peter hates himself.  _ This is so fucking pathetic _ . 

“Hey, uh, did you read that thing on the Harvard scholars program?” Flash asks, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

“N-no, what’d it say?” Peter asks. 

“Other than that it’s better than fucking MIT? Well,” Flash goes on to ramble about his dream school at length. Peter thinks he’s the most gorgeous person alive. 

After their conversation about Harvard, talking gets far easier. The two teens chat for another hour or so before Peter freezes, his super-hearing picking up on some commotion on Flash’s end of the screen.  _ Is that… yelling? _

Flash must see the shift in Peter’s focus, as he immediately starts talking louder. Peter pretends not to notice when quiet music starts up in the background, doing absolutely nothing to shield Peter’s sensitive ears from the fighting behind it. Peter pretends to be distracted from it, however, since he knows any normal person would no longer be able to hear the background noise; plus, he doesn’t want to make Flash uncomfortable. It’s none of his business. 

The two teens talk for another couple hours, discussing anything and everything Flash comes up with until hours into the night. Peter feels more relaxed than he’s been in months, Flash’s excitable tone distracting him from the hunger pangs and dark thoughts that would usually have consumed Peter by this point in the night. When they finally hang up, Peter falls right asleep. 

\--- 

Peter and Flash FaceTime almost every night for the next four days. Flash calls him every time, Peter too insecure and overall confused to initiate anything. It’s Sunday night when Peter calls him for the first time. 

He doesn’t really mean to, if he’s honest. It’s nearly midnight and Peter has been sitting on his bedroom floor for two hours. 

He got back from patrol early that night, climbing through his window at only 10. There are purple-green bruises surrounding his wrists from the asshole cops who decided tonight was a good night to arrest a fucking hero as he’s literally stopping a robbery. He’s frustrated, angry, and hungry as hell. Peter had to run nearly six miles to get back to his apartment, dodging and weaving police cars as they tried to stop him. He only made it 30 minutes into patrol before he was cuffed, and he had to flee so he wouldn’t get caught later in the night. He spent the first two miles with the broken handcuffs digging into his wrists, throbbing from when he ripped them apart to escape. He finally managed to rip them from his wrists later, but not before he literally thought he would lose his fingers from lack of circulation.  _ Fucking cops _ . 

When he finally made it to his window, Peter made it barely five steps before a panic attack wracked his frame. 

His hands move with a mind of their own, jerkily ripping his suit off so he can lie on the floor in just his underwear. He curls into fetal position, one hand flying up to cover his mouth and muffle the sobs that fight to escape. The other circles around his waist, arm quivering as it attempts to comfort the rest of his body. 

Peter hears Tony’s voice in his mind,  _ breathe, Pete _ . He can’t.  _ God, he just can’t _ . He’s too fucked up to get a breath in, wet sobs interrupting his breathing pattern and making his head swim.

Peter digs his fingers into the closed gash of his left arm. He sobs as the dull pain sears through him, just on the wrong side of enough. Blind with panic and brewing frustration, Peter does the only thing he can think to do. He takes the jagged edge of his web-shooter, broken during his wrestling match with the handcuffs, and digs it into the scabbing scar. A relieved sob tears from his throat as he caves in on himself, warm, wet blood flooding his frozen fingertips. 

Peter stays curled up like that on his bedroom floor, the jagged cut dripping blood steadily down his body as he lies on his right side. He watches the thick liquid flow in smooth rivulets down his arm and across the shivering expanse of his torso, warm and sticky where the rest of his skin is coated in goosebumps. 

He finally shakes himself out of his trance when the only thing he can hear is his shaking breaths and the comforting, muffled conversation of the older couple who lives below him. Mind still jumbled with self-deprecating thoughts and regrets, Peter picks up his phone from where it fell with him to the floor. He hits “call.”

“Parker?” Flash’s voice creaks over the phone, his screen black. _ Fuck. Was Flash asleep? Of course he was fucking asleep it’s midnight on a Sunday night and they have school tomorrow.  _

“F-flash?” Peter stutters, unsure of himself as his chest continues to shake with the leftover jitters of his attack. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m here,” Flash grumbles. Peter can hear shuffling from his end of the phone. 

“Can you just.. Just talk to me? About something?” Peter asks, doing his best to stay present as Flash flicks on his lamp. Peter flinches. He makes sure to keep the phone aimed at his ceiling. His phone shakes in his hand, but he knows that Flash can’t see anything lower than his eyes. 

“Something?” Flash asks, sarcasm coloring his voice. Peter knows he should hate it, but it’s oddly comforting. Peter nods over the phone and Flash’s face changes, realization coloring his features. “Sure thing, Parker.” Flash agrees. 

After endless minutes of listening to Flash drabble on about some band he likes while trying to get his breathing under control, Peter has a realization. 

“Flash, are you scared of dying?” Peter whispers. He doesn’t even think Flash had finished his sentence, yet. 

“W-what?” Flash sounds... confused?  _ It isn’t that hard of a question _ . 

“Dying, are you scared of it?” Peter asks again, feeling an urgency that he can’t explain. 

“I, um, I guess? I’m not really scared of what happens after, though. I don’t believe in an afterlife. What about you?” Flash surprisingly just rolls with it, approaching it head-on just like he approaches everything else. 

“No,” Peter says. He doesn’t feel like elaborating. 

“Okay, then. Well, what do you think comes after?” Flash asks. 

“Nothing. I’m Jewish so, you know, the void, I guess?” Peter whispers, struggling to pull himself into a sitting position so he can stay conscious enough to keep the conversation going. His arm hurts. 

“Yeah, I feel that.” They sit in silence for a second. “Hey, Parker?” Flash asks. 

“Yeah,” Peter replies quietly. He picks at the cut on his arm. 

“Why’d you call me?” 

“It’s, uh. It’s nothing. Just needed to talk to someone,” Peter says, feeling vulnerable. _ He is the open wound on his arm _ , he thinks ironically.  _ Talk about wearing your heart on your sleeve _ . 

“Okay. I’m gonna go to bed, if you’re good?” Flash, surprisingly, doesn’t make fun of him. Peter feels a little more human, a little less wound. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Hey, uh, thanks, Flash,” Peter says. Flash gives him a dorky little thumbs-up through the screen before it turns black and he hangs up. Peter falls asleep on the floor that night, but at least he falls asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! I know we are still a while away from Tony coming back into the story, but I would love some of your opinions on how he should help our resident angsty teen. We all know that Peter is EXTREMELY selfless and very self-sacrificing, so I don't see this playing out in Peter just accepting help. I also don't see Tony just brushing this off, though, since he cares SO much for Peter. If anyone has any ideas on how Tony can subtly help Peter out without just "throwing money at the problem" or somehow embarrassing/making Peter feel guilty for it, I would love to hear your input!!


	9. To Bruise, To Break, or To Bend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry this is a bit of a short chapter, I'm working on some pretty big things for the rest of the storyline! Don't worry, more updates will be coming soon! As always, thank you all for your comments, support, and feedback!

When Peter wakes up for school the next morning, the bruises on his wrists aren’t healed yet. Peter pushes through his moment of panic as he gets ready, refusing to question the sharp decrease in his speed-healing. He knows it’s been a bit slow lately, but this is unheard of. He throws on a T-shirt, a flannel, and his zip-up hoodie. In a moment of sheer idiocy, he grabs Tony’s sweatshirt, too. He ties it around his waist. 

Peter is grateful for the perpetual chill that runs through New York, making him only mildly uncomfortable as he makes his way to school. His stomach stopped growling last night as he ran from the cops and, though he knows it’s probably a bad sign, Peter can’t find it in himself to feel anything more than grateful. 

Flash acts about the same as he has been for the past few days, treating Peter with only mild disdain when others are watching and otherwise acting civil. He surprises Peter in chemistry, though, when he finally lets his guard down. Peter feels like he’s constantly being surprised by the other boy. After handing Peter his now-routine bag of chips, Flash looks at the other boy rather than focusing down on his notes. 

“Hey, Parker. You good?” Flash asks just above a whisper, leaning in a bit at their desk to ensure that nobody hears him being nice to Peter. 

Peter blushes a little at the closeness, fiddling with the plastic corner of the chip bag as he looks everywhere but at Flash. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks, again, for last night,” Peter replies even more quietly. 

Flash gives him a quick nod and a little shoulder bump that Peter assumes was meant to be friendly. Instead of shoving Flash back, though, the teen flinches. His whole body stiffens at the contact, shoulders raising immediately almost to ear-level as his hands raise up without his permission to protect his head. Peter stops breathing for a second, panicking even as his Spidey-sense remains silent. What causes Peter to panic even more, though, is that his sleeves slipped down when his arms flew up. 

Flash’s eyes zero in on the purple bruises encircling his skinny wrists, the bones looking like they’re about to burst through his mottled skin. Peter rushes to pull the sleeves back down and returns his hands to his lap, watching them shake terribly as he continuously tugs at his sleeves. 

“Peter,” Flash whispers. He’s gone pale, his eyes wide and scared.  _ Freak. You probably scared the shit out of him, no normal person walks around with bruises like that. He probably thinks you’re in a gang or some shit, get it together. You’re the dangerous one, not him. Fucking mutant.  _

“I-It’s nothing, I swear. Just, uh, just knocked my arm on something the other day. Promise,” Peter stutters out, breathless in his panic _. Don’t let him find out.  _

Flash nods quickly, looking down at his chemistry and refusing to look up until the bell rings. Peter can’t stop tugging on his sleeves for the rest of the day. 

\--- 

Flash is normal again on Tuesday and Peter’s life starts to look the same way. He falls back into his routine, managing to hit the Whole Foods dumpsters on Tuesday night and the bagel shop on Friday. He keeps up his journal, texts Flash every night for chemistry, and even manages to FaceTime with the other boy on Wednesday night. 

Peter pretends that everything is normal, that everything is okay. But his wrists have barely healed. His arm is still decorated with a partially-open wound. His hands haven’t stopped shaking since Sunday. 

Sunday. Somehow it’s Sunday again. Peter doesn’t think he remembers one entire day from this week. Thankfully, he has his list. Thankfully, he has proof that he still exists. 

Monday: cafeteria fries, granola bar from Flash, 1 mint from floor of Spanish room (don’t tell) 

Tuesday: 6 chicken nuggets from cafeteria, chips from Flash, half sandwich Whole Foods, 1 mildly squishy apple (stop being greedy)

Wednesday: mac and cheese from cafeteria, chips from Flash

Thursday: granola bar, hot dog from cafeteria, ½ bag of chips from Flash 

Friday: ½ bagel, 1 burger from cafeteria, last granola bar

Saturday: ½ bagel, 1 piece of chocolate (from the nice lady at the Subway stop)

Sunday: 1 bagel, other ½ bag of chips from Flash

\---

Flash keeps checking his wrists. At first, Peter thinks it’s because of the bruises. Maybe that’s how it started, but the bruises healed halfway through last week and Flash hasn’t stopped. 

Peter knows he doesn’t exactly look great. He’s skinnier now than he ever has been, even when he was fourteen and pushing himself pointy-elbow after knobbly-knee through the tail end of a growth spurt. His eyes are constantly surrounded by dark circles, glassy yet dim at the same time as he tries to focus on the monotonous humdrum around him in class. His hair is flat and greasy, the curls wilting upon his head as he runs his fingers through them constantly. And, God, his  _ hands _ . His nails are bitten-down and have a healthy layer of blood underneath them, his cuticles torn and painful to the touch. His hands themselves are shaky and cold, making his handwriting stiff and illegible. Point being, Peter knows he’s ugly. He’s accepted it.

Flash, on the other hand, is gorgeous. His warm brown eyes bore into Peter’s as they talked over FaceTime, the other boy not seeming to mind when Peter can’t bring himself to hold up the other end of a conversation. His hands are steady and controlled, not even shaking a little as he offers Peter a spare pencil or a half-crushed granola bar or his calculator in class. His hair is shiny and smooth, falling a little into his eyes when he ducks his head to see his notes. Flash is so alive, so bursting with life. His cheeks blush a subtle pink under his darker skin, making him look flushed and young even as they discuss upcoming college applications and the final round of ACTs. Most importantly, though, are his lips. They sit a deep pink on his face, plump and smooth as they curl around his words and stretch beautifully into a smile. His tongue pokes out the corner of his mouth when he laughs, sometimes, and Peter wishes he could take its place as it caresses his lips. He wonders if his own bitten lips would scratch Flash’s perfect ones, if his imperfections could rub off on someone as stunning as Flash. He doesn’t think he likes the answer. 

“Hey, earth to dork,” Flash’s lips say. Or, rather, Flash says. 

Peter tears his eyes away from Flash’s lips and drags them up his face, past the stubble coating his upper lip and his gorgeous hooked nose. 

“What’s with the MIT sweater, Parker?” Flash teases with a hint of his usual nosey curiosity peeking through. Peter glances down at the hoodie draped over his stick-thin frame, the sleeves dangling halfway down his palms just like he imagines they used to on Tony. It makes his heart happy, to look even a fraction like Tony did.

“Nah, it’s Mr. Stark’s,” Peter says without thinking.  _ Fuck _ . 

“Shut up, Parker, no it isn’t. I thought you were over the whole Stark Internship thing?” Flash questions in shock. Oddly enough, he doesn’t look frustrated; instead, he looks kind of thrown. 

“I don’t have it anymore, Flash, that doesn’t mean it never existed,” Peter says morosely. He doesn’t need the reminder that he isn’t seeing Tony anymore. 

“Yeah, whatever. Fits you like a glove, shortstack,” Flash says with a smile. Peter wants to melt through the floor. Instead, he fiddles with the sleeves some more. 


	10. The First Shoe Drops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry in advance for this chapter and the chapter that will follow... EXTREME ANGST AHEAD  
> As always with this storyline, it gets way worse before it gets better. There's a long way to go before a happy ending.

Peter has become scarily accustomed to the sounds of Flash’s parents’ voices. They permeate every FaceTime call the two boys share, droning on in the background under the staticky sound of Flash’s record player. 

“Parker, are you even listening to me?” Flash asks.  _ Nope _ . 

“Uh, not really, sorry,” Peter mumbles. “What’s that record you’re playing? It's really good.” 

Flash looks self-impressed, as he tends to do when Peter asks about his music preferences. “It’s Bleachers, they’re really not that underground. At least, not if you know good music,” Flash preens. 

“Guess this is just another area where you’re better than me, asshole,” Peter jokes. Kind of. Flash definitely is better than him, but not because of his music taste. Just because Peter is kind of the worst human-like-mutant-thing ever invented. 

“Guess you’re right! Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted, I was gonna ask what you thought of that Spanish assignment. I thought it was bullshit,” Flash states. 

“Oh, for sure, it was utter ass. Who the fuck takes an entire point off for every grammar mistake? Do, like, half a point at most!” Peter agrees. 

“Can’t wait to get to college and not have to deal with this,” Flash says grumpily. Peter’s a bit shocked, if he’s honest. 

“What do you mean? You love school, you have the highest GPA in the class. Plus you have, like, the best house ever. Why would you want to live in a shitty dorm?” Peter asks, surprise coloring his voice. 

“Seriously? Parker, you know my life isn’t perfect. Don’t pretend you don’t hear the shit going on downstairs, even though it shouldn’t be possible. I see you flinch when my mom yells, I know you hear my dad slamming shit. Just because you pretend not to notice doesn’t mean you don’t, like, notice,” the fight leaves Flash’s voice near the end of his last sentence, as he realizes what he just gave away. 

“T-that really wasn’t my intention. I just, well, I don’t know,” Peter mumbles. He really didn’t mean to bring that up, he honestly wasn’t thinking about how the constant fighting actually affected Flash. 

“Just drop it,” Flash grumbles. Peter nods and watches as Flash turns the volume knob on his record player. 

“So, college. Still Harvard, for you?” Peter asks awkwardly. 

“Still MIT for you, dweeb?” Flash shoots back, grinning a little as he teases the other teen. 

“Duh,” Peter responds, laughing a little under his breath at the nickname. Flash starts up the conversation again, and suddenly it’s like they never argued. He thinks back to how MJ used to drop arguments like this, how she would never hold a grudge. He remembers how Ned would refrain from speaking to him for days on end over one stupid comment, but would always drop it to listen when Peter really needed him. 

Peter shakes his head, dispelling the thoughts from his ever-saddening mind. He can’t think of them anymore; he finally ruined it with them. He started an argument that MJ couldn’t ignore, stopped talking for too long for Ned to come listen. 

But… now, he has Flash. Flash, who never lets arguments become arguments. Flash, who uses music to drown out fights and talks even more than Peter ever did. Peter hears Flash switch out the record and begin a new tangent, feeling himself take a deep breath for the first time all day.

\--- 

Flash shows up to school that Thursday with his own bruise. It sits high on his cheekbone, narrowly avoiding becoming a black eye as it highlights his sharp features. Peter can’t stop staring at it, both out of wonder and fear. Flash somehow looks just as gorgeous even with the injury marring his features, but Peter can’t help the sharp tug in his chest each time he sees the boy’s face. 

Flash does his best to loudly dissuade any suspicion about his injury. He brags to anyone who will listen about the “sick fight” he won last night, asserting to his pals that they “should’ve seen the other guy.” Peter doesn’t believe there was a fight, though, and he’s pretty sure he  _ heard  _ the other guy the night before. He thinks Flash can tell that he knows, too, because the teen is overly rude to Peter during chemistry. He isn’t outwardly mean, per se, but he is far less gentle with the other boy than usual. 

For once, Peter isn’t the only one flinching at their shared desk. For the next week, each time Peter moves too quickly or speaks too suddenly, Flash freezes and his eyes go wide. Peter makes up for each and every flinch with a tight grip on his own arm, punishing himself for making Flash uncomfortable or scared. It’s a painful week, but Peter forces himself to learn.  _ He can’t be the monster. _

They still text every night, but FaceTimes have been reduced drastically as Flash tries to hide the increased shouting happening behind him. The two boys text almost nonstop over Thanksgiving break, having had Wednesday through the end of the week off. Peter doesn’t know what to do, how to help. It doesn’t seem like Flash really wants his help, and Peter refuses to become another burden in the other boy’s life. They only have a little over a semester left of high school, so Peter decides to focus on just getting them both to college. 

As for himself, Peter spent the holiday wallowing in guilt and self-hatred, beating himself up for indulging on Thanksgiving day with May. He spends every night out of patrol, pushing himself harder and harder even as he feels himself growing weaker. The lack of a school-provided meal once a day has started to affect him. He gets dizzy every time he stands, black spots invading his vision for seconds after he rises. If he sits up too fast in the mornings, he can taste the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth as it rushes to his head. May works every day except for Thanksgiving Day, coming home frazzled and frustrated with the New York population. She starts sleeping more, leaving Peter short notes on the backs of receipts and lists rather than talking to the teen. Peter stays out of her way, and she stays out of his. 

Peter makes daily runs to grocery store dumpsters, taking advantage of his lack of school to hit places that would usually be too far out of his range. He refuses, however, to go to any soup kitchens or shelters that are booming during the holiday; he doesn’t deserve these people’s charity, there are so many more people who need it more and these places are so under-funded. 

\---

On the last Saturday of November, Peter finally discovers how bad Flash has it. While Peter is swinging through the wealthier part of the city at around 4 pm, he hears screaming followed by three gunshots in rapid succession. Shifting his direction to go toward the outskirts of the city toward the sprawling mansions, Peter finds himself crouched outside of a very familiar house.  _ Is this… Flash’s house?  _

Peter knows he doesn’t have time to think, no matter whose house it is; he needs to save anyone he can.  _ Heroes don’t hesitate.  _ Peter swings through the open window in the backyard, already hearing more commotion break out inside. He stops in his tracks when he sees the scene. 

There is a woman on the floor, her body crumpled in a heap like a puppet with cut strings. A man stands a few feet away from her, profile facing Peter as he raises the hand nearest to Peter up to his mouth. In that hand is a gun. Peter’s Spider-senses shock through his system as he sprints toward the door, keeping his eyes on the man even as he moves. A loud bang echoes through the empty mansion, stopping Peter in his tracks. 

Flash’s father drops to the floor, his arm falling loosely by his side as his body hits the floor. The gun in his hand goes off yet again from the force of it hitting the floor, a bullet whizzing past his lifeless body. There is brain matter on the expensive painting behind him. 

Peter was too late. He hesitated at that window, he should’ve gone in as soon as he saw that there was a dead body. He failed. He failed and now Flash is a fucking orphan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger everyone... Flash's life isn't as great as he wants it to seem, right?!
> 
> In other news, what do you all think of Ned and MJ? I'm having some trouble bringing them back into the storyline, I love them as characters but at this point they've let Peter down a bit too much for my liking. In my experience, sometimes high school friends don't last forever... I might see them coming back way later in the storyline, perhaps in a distant sequel if this fic does well? We still have a long way to go, but I would love to hear all of your thoughts!! As always, any feedback is so appreciated and I would be interested in hearing any of your reasons to convince me to bring Ned and MJ back into Peter's life.


	11. The Other Shoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE TRIGGER WARNING!!! GRAPHIC depictions of minor character death, I will put a separate warning right before the part of this chapter that really delves into it but a general warning for this whole chapter. Please proceed with caution and, as always, let me know what you think!

Peter barely remembers getting home. He called 911 from the Thompsons’ home phone, leaving the line silent so nobody would suspect anything. They would probably assume Flash’s dad called right before he… 

Peter peels off his suit, sweaty skin sticking to the material. He ends up in the shower somehow, burning hot water pelting his skin. He barely feels it, his mind full of static and his mouth full of cotton. Peter starts to sob--a wet, hollow sound that rips from his throat painfully. The scene keeps replaying in his head, the teen watching over and over as the man’s brain matter flies out from the back of his head, hearing the dull thump of his body hitting the ground on repeat. 

Two hours later, Peter gets out of the shower. The water had long since run cold but he couldn’t get himself to move, leaning lifelessly against the tile wall of his shower as he cycled through panic attack after panic attack. 

Peter is exhausted, and it’s only 7 pm. He crawls into bed after putting on his oldest T-shirt and Tony’s old hoodie. He snuggles into the well-worn fabric, wetting the sleeves with his tears as he imagines how disappointed Mr. Stark would be in him today. Not only did he not save a life, he couldn’t save two lives. He hasn’t even heard from Flash, not that he expected to. He doesn’t know what to do. Does he tell him? Does he pretend he doesn’t know? Peter feels so lost, he just wants to disappear so he never has to deal with this. For a second, he even debates reaching out to Tony... he shakes that thought from his brain immediately, though. He can't let his old mentor see him like this, he can't let anyone know how far he's fallen. 

He knows he’s weak, he really does. It’s not like Peter isn’t self-aware. He knows that he’s a disappointment to his aunt and his old mentor. He knows that he doesn’t deserve the gift of the bite, and he knows that it makes him a mutant and a freak. Peter knows that everyone he loves dies. He knows that he’s bad luck, a curse. 

From the second Peter got the bite, he knew he could really _be_ someone. He could be a hero, a vigilante,  _ something _ . But instead, Peter wasted it. Uncle Ben died almost immediately, he could only help little old ladies and the occasional mugging, and now two people are dead because of him. Flash is an orphan because of him. 

Sobs bubble up within Peter once again, shaking the teen’s body violently as he clings to himself for comfort. His nails dig into his arm out of habit, the dull pain so far from enough that he barely even feels it. He starts to sob even harder as his one functioning form of coping fails him, not even attempting to stay quiet as he knows May is working until tomorrow night. He screams into his hands, fingers coming up to grasp at his hair and yank at it from the roots. He can feel his entire body shivering under the weight of his mistakes, his heart feeling too heavy for his seventeen years of life. Peter chokes on his own breathing, not even trying to fight as yet another panic attack rips through his fragile frame. 

\---

Peter’s phone rings at 8 that night. 

“Hello?” Peter mumbles into the phone. 

“P-Peter?” Flash’s voice comes through the phone. Peter sits up immediately, putting his phone on speaker so he can set it in his lap. 

“Yeah, Flash, I’m here,” Peter says softly. 

“God, I… Something happened. Peter, it’s real bad,” Flash whispers, his voice shaking and fear coloring his tone. Peter knows he’s really shaken just by the fact that he’s calling Peter by his name.

“It’s ok, Flash, you’ll be ok,” Peter tries to reassure him, keeping his voice as steady as possible. He has to remind himself that Flash doesn’t know, doesn’t know that he saw the whole thing, that he knows what happened. 

“Peter can I… Can we talk in person? Please? I just, I really need to see you,” Flash says. Peter hears his breaths rattle with pent-up tears. "You're, uh, you're the only one. You're the only person who... gets it."

“Of course, Flash. Can you make it to my apartment? I don’t have a car, do you want me to walk to you?” Peter asks hurriedly, wishing for the first time in his life that he knew how to drive. 

“I-I can drive, can you just stay on the phone with me?” Peter already hears the door open and shut, Flash must have been waiting by the door for Peter’s approval. The boy’s eagerness to see him mixed with his insecurity to ask makes Peter’s chest hurt. 

“Always,” Peter whispers. He hears a car engine start and faint rock music filters through his phone’s speakers. Flash drives in silence to Peter’s apartment, the sound of his music mixing with the whistling of the wind through his open windows. Peter can hear cars in the background, his super-hearing allowing him to catch hints of Flash’s shaky breathing when the music goes silent between songs. 

Peter hops out his window to the alley below, jogging around to the front of the building. He watches Flash drag himself from the car, looking dazed and afraid. He doesn’t know what to do in that moment. He reminds himself that he’s the reason Flash looks like that. Peter’s the one who couldn’t keep him from becoming an orphan. It doesn’t seem to matter to the other boy, though, not that he would know. 

Flash’s eyes light up just a bit in recognition as he sees Peter, the taller teen running up to wrap his arms around Peter. Peter’s heart stops as he feels Flash’s arms around him, pressing the two boys chest-to-chest with such ferocity that it almost hurts. Peter slowly moves to bring his arms up to cradle Flash’s torso, wrapping his spindly limbs around Flash’s firm torso to rub circles onto his shivering back. He feels Flash’s shaky breaths puff against his neck, his shirt collar already wet with the other boy’s tears. They stay like that for a moment, wrapped in one another’s arms in the middle of the sidewalk, a street lamp illuminating the sheen of tears on their cheeks. 

“Peter?” Flash asks, sounding so much smaller than he is. 

“Yeah?” Peter asks from his position still cradled between Flash’s arms. 

“Can we go in?” He asks. Peter nods, slowly detangling himself from Flash’s grasp to lead the teen up the stairs to his apartment. They go to Peter’s room, Peter closing the door behind him out of habit even though nobody else is there. Peter shoves his suit further into the closet with a sneaky kick, shutting the closet door while Flash goes to sit on the edge of Peter’s rumpled bed. Peter joins him after a beat, nervous and awkward as his childhood bully sits on his bed. 

“So, uh, what happened?” Peter asks after a minute of awkward silence, cringing at his choice of words. Way to sound insensitive, idiot. 

“Can you, uh, sit down? It’s kind of a long story,” Flash says, sounding so unbearably vulnerable. Peter nods and sits on the other corner of his bed, wishing he could press their legs together or hold Flash’s hand. 

-WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND MINOR CHARACTER DEATH-

Once Flash starts speaking, everything comes out. Part of the way through, it seems like he loses track of what he’s telling Peter and what’s his train of thought. Maybe there’s no difference. 

“I got home a little after 7:30. I was out with Jess. I was, uh, I was breaking up with her. We just didn’t work… whatever doesn’t matter,” he quickly moves on. Peter’s heart skips a little, at that, but he knows now isn’t the time to ask him about it. “When I got home, the house was quiet. I was so relieved, Peter, I thought they finally stopped fighting. Or, like, at least left for a while so I could just fucking hear myself think for once. I went into the kitchen to get water and then went to the living room to kind of, I guess, appreciate the silence? God, that sounds terrible. I swear I don’t- didn’t- hate them, Peter.” Flash looks up to meet Peter’s eyes and his heart breaks. He looks so scared, so alone. Peter never wants him to feel like that again. “When I got to the living room, I saw them. I saw my, my dad first. He was lying on the ground, Peter, there was so much blood. It was everywhere. I fucking, I stepped in it. I didn’t notice, at first, but it was everywhere. There were little, uh, little chunks in it,” he gags a little, likely imagining the scene. Peter winces a bit, remembering the gruesome sight of Flash’s dad’s brain leaking from his head. “Then, I saw my mom. God, Peter, she looked so pale. I know sh-she’s gone, but she still looked just as scared as she always did around him. Aren't you supposed to look peaceful, when you’re gone? Why didn’t she look peaceful?” Flash starts to cry at that point, sobs breaking through as he pictures his parents. Peter stays quiet, not wanting to interrupt him while he’s being so vulnerable. He carefully scoots closer to him on the bed, making sure to move slowly and look directly at him as he does so. Peter knows how it feels to be scared. He doesn’t ever want Flash to be scared of him. Flash takes a deep breath after a minute. “The cops were already on their way. I guess my dad must’ve called them, or something, before... Before. They got there a few minutes after I did, Peter, I had to explain everything to them. I, uh, I puked like three times. Then, I called you.” Flash glances at Peter shyly, like he’s embarrassed about calling the other boy. 

“God, Flash, I’m so sorry. Shit, I- You don’t deserve any of this,” Peter says, lost for words. He decided halfway through Flash’s story not to tell him that he’s Spider-Man; this situation is too hard for Flash, too scarring for Peter to throw yet another curveball at the teen. Peter feels guilty for hiding it, he knows it’s going to come back to bite him in the ass, but he doesn’t care right now. He’ll do whatever it takes to protect Flash from more pain. 

Flash shrugs, silent tears snaking glistening pathways down his tan cheeks. "Fuck, sorry for unloading that shit on you. I probably, fuck, I probably just triggered you so fucking hard. I just, like, I knew you'd get it? I'm sorry," Flash rambles, turning pink with embarrassment. 

"Don't apologize, Flash, shit. I don't even remember it, if I'm honest? Plus, I have... I've got May. I've got you, too, right? And you've got me," Peter mumbles the last bit, trying to give Flash comfort in any way he can. He feels guilt fester in his chest at Flash's apologies, knowing that it should be the other way around. Still, he's too caught up in the butterflies in his stomach that flutter every time Flash looks at him for reassurance, the frantic, rabbiting thumb of his heart in his ears every time Flash trusts him with another detail. 

Flash shifts a little to lean against Peter, resting his head on Peter’s bony shoulder even though he’s far too tall to comfortably do so. "Thanks, Peter," he whispers. Peter tenses up for just a second before melting into the contact. They sit like that for a while, Flash’s breathing slowly evening out. After a while, Peter realizes that Flash has fallen asleep. 

Peter decides to move the two of them to a more comfortable position, too tired and overwhelmed to succumb to the moment of panic he feels at being so close to the other boy. He slowly and carefully pulls Flash up toward the headboard, lips pulling into a half-smile as Flash grumbles sleepily but doesn’t wake up. Then, he joins the teen in on top of his comforter and covers the two of them with a spare blanket. Flash snuggles into him immediately, drawn to Peter’s presence for comfort in his vulnerable state. Peter forgets how to breathe when Flash rests his head on Peter’s chest, curling up against the smaller boy. Peter shivers a bit, reveling in Flash’s body warmth. It is a welcome change to the constant cold that invades Peter’s bones, and it lulls Peter to sleep nearly immediately. 

He doesn’t realize until right before he falls asleep that Flash called him by his first name the entire night. 


	12. Nightmares and Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! Thank you all so much for your support with the previous chapter, I'm so glad that you have enjoyed where this story is going! Please keep leaving comments, I absolutely love hearing your feedback!

Peter wakes up to screaming. He feels the bed shake with another body’s weight, panic invading his chest before he remembers that he and Flash fell asleep side by side. The panic doesn’t fully dissipate, though, has he realizes that it is Flash who is screaming. The other boy is sitting ramrod straight in bed next to him, his eyes unblinking as pure fear escapes his lips. Peter reacts on instinct, grabbing Flash’s bicep gently and giving him a small squeeze. He starts talking to the other boy as well, barely processing his own words as he whispers meaningless comforts to the still-shaking teen. He finally stopped screaming, wet sobs taking their place as he seems to wake up. 

After a few minutes of Peter gently rubbing circles against Flash’s arm, the taller boy finally looks up. His eyes are red and wild, tears streaming down his cheeks as his chest shakes with uneven breaths. 

“Flash?” Peter whispers, unsure of how to comfort him. Flash just nods, but seems unable to speak. Peter can hear how frantic his breathing still is, realizing that Flash might be having a panic attack. Peter feels oddly reassured by this, not because he wants the other boy to feel like this, but because he knows how to handle it. 

“Flash, I want you to breathe with me, ok?” Peter asks quietly. Flash’s eyes flit from Peter’s face, to his hand on his arm, back up to Peter’s face. He nods jerkily, and Peter begins to breathe. He overexaggerates, making sure Flash can see his chest moving. He counts quietly, “In, two, three, four. Hold, good. Out, two, three, four, five, six. Good, Flash. Really good, keep going.” 

Despite Peter’s reassurance, Flash still can’t manage to get his breathing under control. It’s better, by far, but still nowhere near enough for his panic attack to subside. Peter gets an idea, grabbing Flash’s hand and pressing it against his sternum. It’s a crude reenactment of Peter’s first panic attack with Tony, the roles reversed so Peter is the one teaching Flash how to breathe again. His heart clenches at the thought of his old mentor, and he distantly wonders if Tony would be proud of him. He hasn’t exactly been a model mentee recently, but maybe helping Flash is a step in the right direction. Maybe he’s on his way to becoming a good person, or at least something other than a bad one. 

Peter rips himself from his thoughts, chastising himself for letting his mind wander when he should be giving Flash his full attention. Thankfully, Peter had been distracted for only a few seconds, and Flash hadn’t managed to spiral any further. Peter redirects his attention to the matter at hand, directing Flash to breathe with him again and tapping his hand against his chest when Flash starts to get distracted by his own mind again. Finally, after many rounds of breathing and so many reassurances that Peter’s throat grew sore, Flash seemed to grow calm again. 

“Thanks, Peter,” Flash breathes. 

Peter nods, awkwardly, before asking, “nightmare?” Flash nods back, and Peter asks, “wanna talk about it?” 

“You sure?” Flash asks, “it’s kinda… a lot,” he mumbles. 

“Yeah, if you’re sure,” Peter says gently. 

“Ok, yeah. Well, it started with… with my parents’ deaths. This time, though, I was there for the whole thing. I watched Father beat mom, listened to her screaming at me that it was my fault up until he shot her. Then, uh, he looked me in the eyes as he shot himself. His brain got all over me, Peter, it even got in my mouth. Then, umm, then I guess it went back in time? I blinked and ended up in mom’s piano room, and she was alive again, like nothing happened. She was yelling at me, I can’t even remember what about. I thought I had woken up, I guess, because this was so normal. But then, I turned around and, and Father was there, too. Then, the yelling got so loud that I started yelling, too. Then I guess I woke up,” Flash says. He has a distant look in his eyes, his voice sounding detached and monotone despite how off-putting his nightmare was. 

“I’m so sorry, Flash,” Peter whispers. He isn’t really sure what else to say, but Flash doesn’t seem to mind. 

Flash shrugs, “It’s fine. It’s over, and they’re gone now. Right?” He tries to sound humorous when he asks, but Peter can tell that he’s partially serious. 

“Yeah, Flash. It’s all over,” Peter says. Flash shoots him a quick smile, his lips barely quirking up, and Peter tries to return it. 

“Thanks again, Peter. For listening, and for… whatever you did earlier. How’d you learn that stuff?” Flash mumbles. He doesn’t like to admit to not knowing things, and Peter feels a bit of warmth flood his cheeks at the thought of teaching Flash something new. 

“I, uh, I get a lot of panic attacks,” Peter responds. He knows Flash wouldn’t believe him if he told him that Tony freaking Stark taught him breathing exercises. “And, uh, you’re welcome. Any time.” 

Flash nods, again. Then, without another word, he lies down, back facing Peter. Peter takes that as his cue to lie back down as well, and barely a minute passes before both teens are fast asleep. 

\---

The two boys wake up just before noon the next day. It’s the longest Peter has slept in who knows how long, only waking up when he feels Flash start to shift against him. The two must have moved in their sleep, as Flash is curled around Peter’s back, nearly covering the smaller boy with his long limbs. One of Flash’s arms is wrapped around Peter’s tiny waist, hanging loosely down in front of him. His face rests behind Peter’s neck, little puffs of hot air ghosting over the little hairs there. Their legs are tangled into a knot, so intertwined that Peter doesn’t know where he stops and Flash starts. 

Peter feels a sick sort of satisfaction at how small he is compared to Flash. He smiles down at the sight of his tiny arm next to Flash’s muscular one, proud that he’s still in control. It’s not like Peter enjoys not eating, but he can’t say he hates the feeling of shrinking. He likes that he’s starting to take up less and less space, despite the food that Flash provides for him without a second thought. He likes that his body is starting to adjust, starting to enjoy running on one full meal a day and barely anything else. He likes to think that soon, he won’t even have to rely on Flash. Soon, he’ll be okay with no meals. He’ll be able to run on nothing, to need nothing, to never burden May or Flash or anyone ever again. 

Peter wishes that he could live in Flash’s warmth forever. He allows himself a second of weakness, snuggling closer to Flash’s torso and taking a deep breath, breathing in the scent of his coconut shampoo. 

Flash must be in the process of waking up, Peter thinks, as he feels him start to squirm and detangle himself with his eyes still shut. Flash’s arm lifts a bit from around Peter’s waist and Peter uses that opportunity to roll over to the other side of the bed, putting some distance between them before Flash can realize that he’s been wrapped around Peter. That would be… awkward. 

Flash grumbles a second later, one arm coming up to brush a fist against his sleep-crusted eyes as he starts to sit up. Panic flashes over his sleepy face for a millisecond as Peter assumes the memories of the night before have started to flicker behind his eyes. Peter sits up next to him, his hand moving without his permission to rest gently on Flash’s shoulder. Flash jerks and looks at him, his terrified eyes meeting Peter’s empathetic ones. The two boys share a beat of silence, just breathing as Flash tries to calm down. 

“Breakfast?” Peter asks after a second, unsure of what else to say. 

“Starving,” Flash nods, a small smile playing at his lips even despite the events of the night before. He can always count on Peter to be awkward, that’s certain. 

\---

Flash and Peter awkwardly navigated Peter’s small kitchen, moving in near-silence as Peter searched for breakfast in the pantry and directed Flash toward the fridge to grab himself a drink. 

“Holy shit,” Peter hears Flash exclaim from beside the fridge. Peter cringes a bit, thinking that Flash is commenting on the sparse options within their barren fridge. “Parker, is that Tony fucking Stark?” Flash yells a moment later. 

Peter speed-walks toward Flash, for a second thinking that Tony himself is in his kitchen with the shock that Flash expressed. He breathes a sigh of relief as he sees that Flash just noticed the picture of him and Mr. Stark taped to the fridge door. His heart hurts at the sight, yearning to feel an ounce of the pure joy that past-Peter had felt smiling goofily at the camera while Tony gave him wonky bunny-ears behind his head. 

“Yeah, Flash, I told you I knew him,” Peter mumbles, shaking himself out of the memory. 

“And I thought you fucking lied, Parker!” Flash exclaims. He grabs the picture off of the fridge door and walks a couple of steps toward the kitchen table, falling down into a chair. One of the legs of the table is too short so, when Flash braces a hand on the table before sitting, he stumbles a bit when the table shifts abruptly. Peter blushes, embarrassed by the state of his tiny apartment in comparison with Flash’s lavish near-mansion. “So, when the fuck was this taken? God, you look like a baby,” Flash says, inspecting the photo. 

“Like, a year and a half ago? I was still fifteen,” Peter says, avoiding Flash’s inquiring eyes. He feels his cheeks grow even warmer, blush moving down his neck and prickling on his cheeks with how overwhelmed he feels. First Flash finds the picture, now he calls Peter a baby? He’s going to die of embarrassment. 

“You’ve had proof for almost two years and you haven’t fucking used it?” Flash questions, sounding nearly angry in how surprised he is. Peter just shrugs. “Parker, you realize you could’ve saved yourself literal years of embarrassment if you just brought this shit to school,” Flash says. Realization then dawns on Flash’s face. “Fuck, I’m such an asshole,” he whispers. 

“No, Flash, you couldn’t have known. Why would T-Mr. Stark hang out with some random poor kid from Queens, right?” Peter says self-deprecatingly. He refrains from calling him Tony in front of Flash-- doesn’t even know if he has the right to call him Tony at all, since it’s been months since he’s even seen him-- because he doesn’t want to give away how close they used to be. 

“But he  _ did _ , Parker. You fucking worked for Tony Stark!” Flash yells. Peter flinches a bit, trying to cover it up with a forced laugh. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Peter mumbles. 

“Oh my God, tell me about it! Tell me everything,” Flash demands, putting the picture down and turning his whole body to face Peter. 

They spend the next couple of hours discussing-- a very watered-down version of-- Peter’s “internship.” Peter tells Flash about working with Tony in his workshop, fudging the details and saying that there were other interns and employees in there with them. 

He doesn’t mention the Avengers at all, but he does talk about working on Spider-Man’s gear. Flash lights up at that, going on a rant about how Spider-Man is his favorite hero and how much he “respects the guy for continuing to work on his own even after he got offers from the mother-freaking  _ Avengers _ .” Peter plays off his blushing as a result of working with Spidey, rather than literally being him. Flash makes sure to ask Peter a myriad of questions about Spidey, such as how his powers work and how he shoots webs. Peter reveals that he invented and constructed Spidey’s web-shooters and Flash nearly loses his mind. 

What Peter doesn’t tell him, though, is that Flash’s chemistry help has allowed Peter to concoct a stronger mix of web-fluid. He also doesn’t tell him that Flash is the reason he even tried to make a stronger one, because before they got close, Peter didn’t exactly mind the risk of his webs snapping and causing him to fall out of the air. It actually happened, once, when Peter was swinging home from patrol one night months ago. He was tired, hungry, and mildly dizzy when his web connected with a rooftop. It snagged on the ledge of a balcony, the fibers stretching and, finally, snapping under his meager weight. Peter fell through the air, not even really attempting to catch himself. He landed a couple of stories down on another balcony, feeling his arm snap beneath him. At the time, Peter healed much faster and was good as new by the time he woke up the next morning. Looking back, Peter still sometimes regrets that night. He doesn’t really know which part of it, just that thinking of it makes his chest hurt and his palms sweat. Yeah, he won’t tell Flash that. 


	13. Merry Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a wonderful winter holiday! This chapter starts off pretty grim but, as always, Flash manages to bring some light. Take care of yourselves over the holiday, and please let me know what you think!!

Flash spends the next month cleaning up the mess his parents left behind. He barely has the energy to even grieve them, as he reveals to Peter during one late-night FaceTime call that he’s more relieved that they’re gone than anything. As far as Peter is aware, the only lingering effects of Flash’s parents’ passing is from when the two monsters were alive. That, and the vivid nightmares in which Flash relives the event of their death. 

When Flash isn’t in school, he texts Peter, ranting about social workers and funeral directors and real estate agents. It turns out that Flash is old enough to emancipate himself, so that’s what the boy does. He starts the process of selling the Thompson’s huge house, deciding that he’d rather live anywhere else than become another ghost that haunts that gigantic space. Peter is shocked but also unsurprised by how well the other boy is handling things. He’s strong, Peter knows it, but that doesn’t make any of this less impressive. 

Peter, on the other hand, is handling the past month… less well. School let out for holiday break a week ago, and Peter has yet to eat more than one “meal” per day. He no longer has the comfort of a school-provided lunch, now forced to survive off of whatever he can scavenge without guilt and whatever May won’t miss.

Peter stopped going to the Whole Foods a couple of days ago after he saw a family digging through the dumpster. They need the food more than he does, so he lets them have it. He just wishes he could do more. 

The effects are starting to show, Peter knows it. His wrists are so thin that the bones have started to press against his skin again, the nubs bruising at the contact. Peter can’t sit in one position for too long before his muscles start to cramp, but he can’t be in motion for longer periods of time before he feels faint. If he weren’t in the habit of lying to himself and everyone around him, he’d admit that he always feels faint. But he is, so he doesn’t. 

May works every day. She and Peter rarely ever see one another anymore, Peter hiding in his room whenever she is home so she doesn't notice how frail he’s become. The layers help, Peter thinks, as he bundles up against the New York winter. He’s started wearing long-sleeved shirts under his suit, the fabric bunching uncomfortably, but it makes him feel just a bit warmer. Plus, he doesn’t want people to see how weak Spider-Man really looks. Most days, he doesn’t even want to leave his room to patrol, but he knows he can’t let the city down. Not like he let Flash down. 

The worst part, though, is that Peter doesn’t hate it. He revels in the fact that he’s shrinking, and shrinking, and shrinking. He takes up so little space, now, that he’s just a few steps away from completely disappearing. Sometimes, Peter daydreams about leaving. 

He spends hours alone in his room, staring off into space or at his twitching hands or at his locked phone screen just imagining what it would be like to be gone. Peter doesn’t even really know what type of “gone” he is yearning for. Some days, it’s just leaving New York. It’s going somewhere that he is certain nobody knows who he is, somewhere that is so empty and barren that there’s no need for Spider-Man. He likes the empty. 

Other times, he fantasizes about running away with Flash. He dreams about telling the other boy his identity, the two running off together to start anew and use Peter’s mutation for their own personal good. Peter hates how selfish he is. 

In the worst times, Peter dreams of dying. Leaving, for real. For good. He imagines himself just wasting away into nothing, letting himself get smaller and smaller and smaller until he fades into thin air. He imagines taking up no space at all, becoming the space, wrapping himself around Flash and May and all of New York like some sort of protective cloak. He wishes for a break. He yearns to stop worrying, stop panicking, stop _being_.

\---

Peter invites Flash over to his apartment on Christmas Day. May is working, as always, and Flash mentioned one too many times that he was starting to feel like a trespasser in his own near-abandoned home. Tony sent him a text earlier in the day, wishing Peter a merry Christmas and yet again inviting him over to the Tower. Peter’s heart skips more than a couple beats at the text, but he also knows there’s nothing he can do about it. May and Tony still haven’t reinstated his internship, plus he knows that Tony is just being nice. Peter responds by liking the message and tries to ignore the way it makes his throat close up and his chest ache. 

Flash arrives mid-morning, holiday-themed Starbucks lattes in hand. Peter grins at the other boy, not even hiding his excitement at the fancy, calorie-packed drinks. He takes his without argument, handing Flash a bottle of water in return. As much as Flash loves coffee, he has a terrible propensity to chug the whole thing in one go and whine about his lack of a drink for the duration it takes Peter to finish his. Peter learned quickly that the best way to keep a whiney Flash occupied was to give him a water to chug before his coffee, ensuring that the sweet drink would last a bit longer. 

The two boys spend the first hour or so of Flash’s visit talking, Peter telling Flash tales of his internship while Flash confides in Peter how grueling the process of living on his own has been. They sit a few inches shy of being knee-to-knee on Peter’s couch, laughing through awkward moments and sharing shy smiles the whole time. Peter splurges on a pizza at noon for the two of them to split, indulging himself in two pieces over the course of the next five hours while Flash finishes the rest of it off without noticing. Peter struggles on the second slice, feeling the grease and carbs and sauce sit heavy in his shrunken gut, but he refuses to waste the food. The two boys watch shitty Hallmark movies and make fun of the couples, stealing secret glances at one another while the other isn’t paying attention. 

Throughout the course of the day, they gravitate closer together until they are pressed thigh-to-thigh and arm-to-arm. Peter can feel Flash’s body heat even through his two sweaters and Flash’s shirt, basking in his warmth and resisting the urge to crawl fully into the other boy’s lap to burrow in his comfort. Flash casually wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulders after the hundredth time a shiver wracks through Peter’s body and the smaller boy can hear his heart pounding with nerves and excitement, hoping that Flash doesn’t hear it too. 

After some time, Peter finally relaxes. He settles against Flash’s chest, his breathing automatically matching Flash’s own. He falls asleep midway through their next shitty movie, not even noticing until he jerks awake to the sound of the doorbell ringing. Flash gives him an apologetic look as he slides out from underneath Peter, going to answer the door. At Peter’s confused look, Flash says, “Dinner time, Sleeping Beauty. I hope you like Chinese food, cause I ordered us a shit ton.” 

Peter panics a bit as Flash turns to bring in the food.  _ Does he offer to pay for it? Can he even afford to pay for it? He spent more money than he should have on the pizza, May only left him $20 for the day and he wants to return at least $5 to her. It’s the least he can do _ . 

When Flash returns, he must see how Peter is spiraling, because he says, “No worries, Parker, I got this. You got us lunch, so… Plus, I’ve got more money from Dear Old Dad than I know what to do with.” Peter nods, guilt settling in his stomach as he sees the sheer amount of food that Flash ordered them. His heart aches as he hears a hint of Tony in Flash’s words, shoving it aside to focus back on Flash. 

He soon forgets his guilt as Flash devours more than his fair share of food and doesn’t spare Peter a second glance when the smaller boy reaches for a dish. They brush hands over the last eggroll, Peter immediately drawing his hand back so Flash can take it. Flash just laughs and says, “Take it, Shrimp, you need it more than I do,” before good-naturedly poking Peter in the ribs. Peter thanks the universe that he wore two sweaters, so Flash’s finger has something other than bone to press into. He giggles at the touch, Flash’s face lighting up as Peter grabs the eggroll and settles back against him on the couch. It’s… nice. Comfortable. 

As he’s falling asleep last night, long past the time when Flash has left, Peter wonders when the other boy started to feel like home. 


	14. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of child abuse, it is not at all graphic but still the main theme of the chapter. Read with caution, and as always, take care of yourself first.

The two boys are sitting on Peter’s grimy old couch two days later, just enjoying one another’s presence and watching reruns of New Girl. Peter sits curled up with his head resting on the couch’s arm and his toes tucked under Flash’s thighs. Flash is slumped on the other side of the couch, his legs spread in a comfortable position with one arm draped over the top of the couch and the other tucked against his torso, holding his phone against his chest as he mindlessly scrolls through it. They both know that the other boy will have to go back home before May returns, since May has no idea that Flash is on Peter’s “good side,” but neither one of them wants him to leave. Instead, they both wordlessly agreed that Flash should stay as long as possible, allowing Flash to stay out of his lonely house and Peter to have a bit of company before May returns from work that night. It’s not that Peter is embarrassed of Flash, or vice versa. The boys discussed it a few days ago after Flash came for Christmas, deciding that Flash’s issues with parental figures and Peter’s overall awkwardness would make him seeing May far more uncomfortable than either teen was able to accept. 

The credits roll on yet another episode and Peter watches Flash lean forward to grab the remote. Instead of hitting play on the next episode, though, Flash pauses the show altogether. 

“Hey, Peter?” Flash asks, his voice soft. Peter looks up, cocking his head to one side in a silent question. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” Peter says, shifting into a sitting position and facing the other boy. His heart races, though, cycling frantically through endless unexplainable situations. 

“You, uh, you have to promise not to be mad at me. Please,” Flash whispers, looking vulnerable. Peter nods, but Flash just gives him a pleading look, refusing to say anything else. 

“Ok, yeah, I promise,” Peter replies. 

Flash nods a bit, taking a breath. “Are you, um, is May… Is May hurting you, Peter?” Flash rushes out, refusing to look Peter in the eye as the words flow anxiously from his mouth. 

Peter freezes.  _ What the fuck?  _

“No! Oh my God, Flash, no. Why would you even ask that?” Peter shrieks, confused and mildly offended on behalf of his sweet aunt. Sure, she hasn’t exactly been present for a while, but she would never  _ hurt  _ him. 

“Sorry, sorry, I just… I just had to ask, okay? It’s just, you flinch every time I move too suddenly and you had those bruises around your wrists for a while and you always say this shit, this self-depricating  _ bullshit _ , and you were bleeding really badly that day in the beginning of the semester. Plus, you never let me come over when May is gonna be home, and she's barely ever home. If you're trying to protect me, Peter, please don't. I'd rather know what's going on than let you keep suffering, I... Peter, I’ve never met anyone as good as you. It would kill me to know that anyone has been using that part of you, and you promised not to be mad. P-please don’t be mad,” Flash rambles, fading off into a whisper at the last part. He hasn’t looked up from his lap since he first asked Peter the question, staring at his hands as they twirl around one another anxiously. 

Peter is thrown for a loop by basically everything Flash said. First, accusing his aunt of hurting him the way Flash’s parents used to hurt him. Then, calling Peter good, as if Peter doesn’t know that’s a flat-out lie. Flash literally used to bully him, he can’t actually think Peter is good for anything other than company and an easy friend. Then, Flash begging Peter not to get mad. He knows that Flash’s childhood was pretty shitty, but to think that Peter would ever get that mad at him makes Peter want to saw his own arm off with a rusty spoon. 

Peter takes a deep breath, reaching out with shaking fingers to rest his hand on Flash’s fiddling ones. The other boy looks up, tears glistening in his eyes. Peter is so confused, so utterly lost as to how they ended up here. Flash is the one with an abusive past, not him. Flash is the one who is kind and gentle and perfect, not him. 

“Flash, I’m not mad. I promise I’m not mad, I was just caught by surprise. Thank you for caring about me, but I swear, I’m ok. May and I are fine,” Peter asserts. At Flash's unsure look, Peter decides to elaborate. "May and I are fine, but she works a lot. Money, uh, it doesn't come really easily to us? She just works a lot, and I never want to worry her. I swear, if there was an issue, I'd tell you," Peter ignores the way his throat tightens around the last sentence, like his whole body is trying to prevent another lie from escaping his body. Sure, the issue isn't with May, not really, but there are issues that Peter isn't telling Flash. Flash doesn't need to hear about them, though, they aren't his responsibility. Peter isn't anyone's responsibility, other than his own. 

“Ok, Peter. Ok. But, then, why were you bleeding so badly that day at school and in the park? Please don’t lie to me. Even if it isn’t May, someone hurt you,” Flash says. Peter’s heart stops. He can’t just tell Flash about Spidey, but his mind is blank of any feasible excuse.

“It was just a stupid New York mugger, Flash. I swear,” Peter lies. His stomach churns at the second blatant lie, but he doesn’t see another realistic option. 

“If you’re sure,” Flash whispers, absently rubbing his thumb against Peter’s hand. Peter nods, and Flash takes his explanation. “Sorry for saying that, about May. I just had to be sure, you know, especially with… my parents,” Flash says quietly. 

“Don’t be sorry, Flash. I know,” Peter whispers, lying back down on the couch. They settle back into silence, Flash turning New Girl back on glancing at Peter with an unreadable expression every so often. Peter doesn't understand how accusing his own aunt can be so endearing, but Flash always has had a way of confusing him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the EXTREMELY SHORT chapter, I have a HUGE update coming very very soon to make up for it!   
> Let me know in the comments, do you think Flash handled this well? What about Peter? Is Flash projecting, or do you think this is a reasonable conclusion for Flash to have come to?


	15. Soul Searching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVERYONE, WE HAVE A POV SHIFT!!! This is my first time writing from a POV that isn't Peter's in this story, so please let me know what you think! Also, all of this is written from a combination of my personal experience and advice from some of my friends, so please tell me if I need to correct anything! (You will know what I mean after reading the chapter, promise!)
> 
> Slight CW/TW for gender/sexuality themes (mild, nothing graphic)

MJ has always prided themself on being an observant person; conversely, though, they also pride themself on their single-mindedness. These two traits often directly contradict one another, to the disdain of MJ, making their life seem extremely black and white. 

This single-mindedness reared its ugly head at the beginning of MJ's school year. Over the previous summer, their best friend from camp came out as pansexual. This wasn’t really news to MJ, as they had always known that their friend was attracted to people based on their personality. What did strike a chord, though, was their friend’s description of her sexuality: liking people based on their personality, rather than their gender, or _lack thereof_. “Lack thereof,” for MJ, proved to be a key phrase. At the time, MJ simply nodded along, congratulating their friend on her newfound openness and confidence. As the summer ended, though, and MJ returned to the monotony of New York City and their drab apartment, this phrase swam through their head constantly. 

“Lack thereof.” “Lack thereof.” “Lack thereof.” What could this possibly mean? MJ spent hours consulting their “oracle,” Google, for answers. For a while, all they got was more confused. They stumbled upon the term non-binary immediately, but, as MJ has already acknowledged, being observant is one of their key traits. They started to observe themself, rather than others, for the first time in years. 

Rather than focusing on Peter; his strange hobbies and desperate faces and constant absences, or Ned; his unrelenting giddiness and never-ending optimism and annoying girlfriend (why did she make MJ want to simultaneously rip her hair out and give her a hug? Maybe they should circle back to that one...), MJ began to draw that focus inward. They retreated from every friendship, burning bridges left and right without notice. It wasn’t until just before the winter holiday that everything came into focus. 

They finally settled into the term non-binary about halfway through November. Thanksgiving came and went without issue, MJ spending the "holiday" (who could call it a holiday, when it was built on genocide and discrimination?) alone with their mother and an old photo album. The album showcased them, frown firmly locked in place, in pretty dresses, bedazzled bows, and princess gowns. A few pages later, the album began to shift to show a young MJ decked out in pair after pair of wretched plaid shorts, the child smiling obliviously in their brightly colored fashion blunders. MJ hated these shorts now, but still somehow felt more comfortable looking back on themself in these mid-thigh monstrosities than any of the neat little gowns from the pages before. With each flip of the page, MJ saw their young self dressed more and more androgynously. MJ saw the child version of themself shift from Michelle Jones to MJ. They watched with a growing warmth in their chest as their mom obliviously complimented young MJ's growing confidence and made fun of every fashion misstep with a kind tone and motherly love. In the back of their mind, the question remained whether their mother had any inkling of the thoughts swirling through the turbulent mind of her child. 

Non-binary. MJ is non-binary. 

For days, MJ repeated these words to themself. In bathroom mirrors, in the margins of their notes, in the confines of their own muddled mind. The phrase was repeated like a mantra, continuously chanted in the background of every thought the teen had. MJ is non-binary. This is MJ, they are non-binary. Yeah, that sounded right. 

\- - - 

Now, after thanksgiving, MJ quietly continues to fly under the radar. They left Ned and Peter behind months prior, too focused on their own issues to put in the effort it always took them to be social. Looking back, this was a terrible idea; still, who could blame a young, confused introvert for not wanting to socialize? 

Bad idea or not, MJ regrets it in the weeks leading up to winter break. They find that there is nobody to tell about their new discovery, nobody who will listen with an open mind and a judgement-free heart. There are no friends to discuss their identity with, nobody to bounce new name ideas off of or even discuss whether or not they want a new name; instead, MJ is greeted with averted glances and silent lunch times. They sit alone, back in the corner of the lunch room where their early high school days were spent; far away from Peter and Ned, far away from anyone. It felt even more lonesome now, as MJ knew that they were even less alike the other teens than they had imagined before this past summer. It makes sense, in hindsight, why MJ always felt so isolated. Now, the only thing that makes sense is how badly they fucked up. 

It hits them a couple of days before the holiday when they see Peter enter the cafeteria. They had been looking anywhere but at Peter and Ned's old table since returning to school, only just working up the courage to look over. Following Peter with their eyes, they see that he doesn’t sit by Ned, and instead takes his lunch tray to the far corner opposite to MJ. MJ watches as Peter quickly devours his food, heart racing at the sight of the boy’s huge eyes zipping from one table to the next. They watch as Peter takes a series of deep breaths, as he tries to covertly mop up all of the crumbs of his lunch. His tray is nearly spotless when he stands. MJ watches, always watches, as Peter stands and nearly falls. They can’t tear their eyes away from Peter's bony fingers clenching against the edge of the table, can’t ignore the terrified look in his eye as his face pales and his knees lock. They watch as he blinks rapidly, seeming to clear something from his eyes, before he half-runs out of the cafeteria. And they decide to never stop watching Peter again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally hear from one of Peter's friends! I did my best to start including bits and pieces from everyone's comments, you all seemed VERY intent on keeping MJ and Ned in the storyline, and I completely agree! MJ seemed like the best character to start with, since they are very practical and observant, so it is most confusing as to why they didn't notice before... I will likely have other chapters from MJ's perspective, and maybe Ned's later, so please let me know how you all feel about them!  
> What do you all think of my spin on MJ? I have always headcanoned MJ with they/them or she/they pronouns (self-projection or imagination? the world may never know...)


	16. Holiday Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of a DOUBLE UPDATE!!! Finishing of 2020 strong, I hope, so prepare for the second instillation of this chapter soon! I hope everyone is having a pleasant New Year, best of wishes for the upcoming year!

Flash buys an apartment on the nice side of the city a couple of days after Christmas. He uses what feels like an infinitesimal fraction of the wealth his father left behind to buy it, not even remotely guilty of spending the money as he basks in the freedom and safety he feels in his new home. Peter helps him move, coming over the night after he officially moved in to unpack stray boxes. The two boys laugh uncontrollably as they swat at each other with towels and duck beneath each other’s arms to load dishes into cabinets. They huddle together over Flash’s record player, then spend hours just dancing like idiots around Flash’s new kitchen rather than being productive. 

Peter’s heart hurts at how bare and generic the apartment looks, and, a few days later, he’s back at Flash’s apartment with a box and a shy grin on his face. He blushes uncontrollably as he reveals the box’s contents, showing Flash a bundle of polaroid pictures and a small paint-by-numbers kit. Flash doesn’t even make fun of Peter, his eyes welling up with unshed happy-tears as he painstakingly hangs up each polaroid on the wall above his bed. They’re nothing special, Peter thinks, just a bunch of barely-artistic photos of flowers and nature and anything else that used to catch Peter’s eye on patrol. He stopped taking them months ago, nearly a year ago. It wasn’t really purposeful, everything just started to look too gray to be beautiful. The world lost its shine, and with it, Peter’s interest. Watching Flash stare at each picture in awe, however, makes Peter start to rethink this. Maybe there are still beautiful things in this world. Maybe he’s looking at one, right now. 

Flash and Peter spend the rest of the evening creating what is certifiably the worst paint-by-numbers ever made. Peter’s hands shake too hard for the small details and Flash is far too impatient, resorting to painting huge sections of it the same color solely because he doesn’t feel like squinting to discern which portion is which color. They end up with paint all over their hands, and up Flash’s forearms. Peter has bits of dried paint on his shirt sleeves, as well, and he doesn’t even care because Flash hasn’t stopped smiling in hours. 

“Hey, Peter?” Flash’s voice interrupts the soft blanket of silence that has settled over the two boys. Peter sits up from his position on Flash’s couch, the comforting chords of Flash’s record playing in the background. 

“Yeah?” Peter asks, head tilting to one side as he tries to find out what is making Flash look this nervous. 

“I’m, uh, I’m really glad you came,” Flash mumbles awkwardly. 

Peter’s heart skips a beat. “I’m glad I came, too.” 

Flash shakes his head, a grin taking over his face as he says, “That was, damn, that was so out of the blue. Sorry. Anyway, you staying for dinner?” 

Peter nods his head, staying quiet at the mention of food as always. Flash gives him a quick smile and a thumbs up before going to the kitchen to order them something. He knows that Flash has started to catch on to Peter’s food issues, and he appreciates the other teen more and more each time they discuss--or, don’t discuss--food. Flash seems to have no issue choosing for Peter, neglecting to question why it makes Peter so uncomfortable but making a point to deny any of Peter’s offers to pay him back. Peter has noticed that Flash always leaves the last of anything for Peter to take and, if Peter doesn’t, Flash will put it in a container or a plastic bag and stick it in his fridge. He also makes a point to tell Peter that anything in his fridge or pantry is up for grabs, even though Peter has yet to take him up on the offer. It makes Peter feel safe, though, and he loves Flash for it. 

_ Oh.  _

_ He loves Flash.  _

_ Fuck.  _

\---

Peter forms a sort of routine over the holiday break. He spends his afternoons and evenings with Flash, usually at the other boy’s apartment. Then he patrols, fueled now by the food that Flash has been shoving in his direction. His mornings are spent cleaning his wounds from the night before and fantasizing about what he and Flash will do later that day. Wash, rinse, repeat. 

With his newfound routine comes a little glimmer of hope in Peter’s life. He still feels a tug in his chest at the sight of Ned and Betty on dates, MJ and her camp friends reuniting over the holiday break, or even strangers going to parties, being social, being _friends_ , on social media. But he has Flash, and for now, that’s enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for PART 2!! Coming soon... please let me know what you think, in the meantime!


	17. New Year...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART TWO of the double update! Happy New Year, everyone! As always, please please please let me know what you think! I really hope you all enjoy this chapter, it's been a long time coming...

Peter goes to Flash’s apartment for New Year's Eve. It isn’t really much of a change, since Peter’s been there basically every day since Flash moved in, but Peter is nervous nonetheless. His hands twitch mercilessly as he tries to button his thick flannel shirt, fumbling and failing pretty miserably. The tremors in his hands have gotten worse since the beginning of the year, continuing non-stop throughout his day and making everything so much fucking harder. Then, he gets frustrated, which makes him more anxious, which makes his hands shake even more. It’s a terrible cycle.

Peter clenches his fists to try to steady the shaking. It never helps, Peter knows this, but he doesn’t know what else to do. The fingernail-shaped imprints in his palms show how often Peter tries and fails at this tactic, mocking him as his fists quiver just as badly as his open palms. 

He’s exhausted. Peter changes his shirt solely to avoid having to deal with the buttons, throwing on a comfortable knit sweater over his T-shirt instead and mentally berating himself. How is he supposed to be a hero if he can’t even button a shirt? He’s pathetic. 

The worst part is, Peter was feeling _so good_ today. He was excited to see Flash, he found an unopened box of granola bars in the bottom of the pantry, and he was even going to paint his nails. 

Peter used to paint his nails in the early years of high school. He would apply coat after coat of color to his nails while Ned talked to him about his crushes, played video games, or did homework that Peter always already had finished. Looking back, Peter realizes that Flash never bullied him for his nail polish, not once. Then, Spider-Man happened. Peter painted his nails black for the first time for Ben’s funeral. He knows it’s dumb, knows it seems too generic and stupid. But, Peter never painted his nails black. He wore pastels, bright colors, even once a shimmery silver.

For a year after Ben’s death, Peter’s nails were black. Tony noticed, when they started working together in his lab, but he never mentioned it. Peter thinks that he assumed Peter was going through a typical “teenage emo phase” and never wanted to reveal otherwise.

Then, he stopped painting them altogether. One day, when he was about sixteen years old, it chipped off and he never replaced it. He was just so _tired_ , so overwhelmed with patrols and working with Tony and trying to eat enough and trying to sleep enough and trying to breathe without his chest feeling like it would crack open. 

He tried, once, the night before his seventeenth birthday. He took the half-empty, crusted-over bottle of black nail polish from his desk drawer and sat down on his bathroom floor. He tried for hours to get it night, but his hands shook too drastically and it ended up all over his fingers and once, when he tried to pick it up, a tremor ran through his hand and the bottle shattered. Peter didn’t try again. 

Until today. 

He was going to do it today, even if it was just a dull navy (the closest replacement he could find to his trusty black polish). But he failed. He can’t expect himself to be able to paint his nails not when he can’t even button his shirt. Peter huffs in frustration, moving to pack his backpack for tonight. Peter is going to spend the night at Flash’s for the first time. That may also explain some of his jitters, he thinks as he shoves the last of his toiletries into his backpack. Then, on a whim, Peter packs his nail polish bag. He sprints out of his apartment before he can second-guess himself. 

\---

Peter and Flash had Chinese food again, a favorite of theirs. Peter loved it because there were so many options and he and Flash shared them all, neither one having a dish that was specifically “theirs.” Flash loved it because Chinese Food Nights were also nights that Peter ate the most. 

When Peter arrived at Flash’s apartment, he was greeted by the soft sound of Flash’s record player. He let himself in, using the key that Flash gave him a couple of days prior, and found Flash sitting on his couch messing around with a box. 

“Flash?” Peter asked, making his presence known to the other teen. 

“Peter!” Flash yells, turning around and hiding the box behind his back. Peter’s heart races as he searches his mind and body for any hint of his spidey-sense, confused as to why Flash was reacting this way. 

“Hey,” Peter says softly, too nervous to actually ask what was in the box. 

“So, uh, I know Christmas already passed and it’s not like we were exchanging gifts or anything and I don’t expect you to get me something but I saw this the other day while I was shopping and I thought of you and you totally don’t have to like it I can always return it but-” Flash starts to ramble, slowly bringing to box out from behind his back. 

“Woah, woah, Flash. Hold on, slow down. What’re you talking about?” Peter asks before he can even process what Flash said. 

“Here,” Flash mumbles, shoving the box into Peter’s hands and looking down at his shoes, avoiding the eye contact that Peter was desperately trying to make. 

Peter grasps the box gently, taking off the lid to reveal a small polaroid camera. It’s a beautiful light blue, a mix between baby blue and sky blue. Next to the camera sits a packet of film, its silver wrapping glinting innocently up from the box. 

“Flash,” Peter whispers, “you… wow.” 

“If you don’t like it I can totally return it and we don’t have to talk about it but I remembered that you used to like photography and you’re really good at it and I didn’t know if you had a camera and I just saw it so,” Flash starts to ramble again. 

“Hey! Flash, it’s… fuck, it’s so nice. You really didn’t have to do this, I love it, but you didn’t have to get this for me. It must’ve been so expensive,” Peter says, trying to get across how much he loves it while also trying to appease the guilty voice in the back of his mind that chants that he doesn’t deserve anyone spending money on him. 

“It’s nothing, if you like it then it’s yours,” Flash says quietly, barely looking at Peter. 

“Thank you, Flash. I don’t know what to say,” Peter responds, finally catching Flash’s eye. They stare at each other, for a minute, before Flash looks away again. 

“Good,” he says awkwardly, Then, after a beat, he clears his throat. “So, dinner?”

\---

Peter and Flash were cleaning up, throwing the takeout boxes away and packing up any leftovers into Flash’s endless supply of Tupperware, when Flash suggested that they watch a movie to make sure they stay up until midnight. It was New Year's Eve, after all, Flash argued. Peter agreed, and the two of them finished up in the kitchen. Peter followed behind Flash, as usual, expecting the other boy to lead him to the couch; instead, Flash led him into his bedroom. He gestured for Peter to sit on his bed, as if it were nothing, and went to turn on the TV set that was mounted on the opposite wall. 

Peter shuffles to the headboard, sitting awkwardly until Flash joins him. The other boy is so comfortable that Peter can’t help but relax next to him. Before he knows it, the two of them are pressed together once again as the movie plays in front of them. Peter hasn’t been watching, too focused on the feeling of Flash’s thigh against his own and the sound of Flash’s quiet laughter. Flash keeps up a running commentary of the movie, filling Peter in on each and every thought that comes to mind. Peter laughs at his dumb jokes, grateful that Flash talks so much because it means that Peter feels no obligation to fill any empty silence. 

“Ok, I’ve had enough of wearing jeans in bed, this feels sacrilegious. I’m gonna change,” Flash says when the movie ends, getting up from the bed and walking over to his dresser. “Want me to chuck you your bag?” he asks Peter. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Peter says breathlessly as Flash slides his shirt over his head. Flash reaches for Peter’s bag on the ground, his bicep flexing as he picks it up and lightly tosses it toward Peter. It lands on the bed in front of Peter and Flash turns back around, likely giving Peter privacy. He’s sure that Flash is really positive as to _why_ Peter would want privacy, but Peter is grateful for it. He quickly changes his shirt and slips into sweatpants, averting his gaze as Flash yanks off his own jeans to put on flannel plaid pants. 

When both boys are changed, Flash turns back around. A grin lights up his face as he sees Peter’s shirt. “Really, 'I heart New York?'” Flash laughs. 

“Hey, don’t make fun of my shirt,” Peter giggles. He neglects to tell Flash that it was a gift of Mr. Stark’s, knowing that’s a story he won’t be able to finish. He tugs a sweater over the shirt before Flash has a chance to see his arms, not wanting to ruin the moment with any questions.

“Don’t blame me, you’re the one who wore a tourist shirt, Parker,” Flash teases him. Peter is glad that Flash continues to gently bully him, happy that their dynamic hasn’t really changed since they’ve become friends. Peter doesn’t understand it, but there’s something comforting in Flash’s lighthearted teasing. 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, I’m a fashion disaster,” Peter jokes, repeating the words Flash has said to him so many times. 

“That’s the spirit,” Flash says, flopping down onto the bed in front of Peter. Peter’s nail polish bag falls out of his backpack. He wants to die. “What’s this?” Flash asks. 

“It’s, uh, it’s nothing,” Peter says, trying to avoid the subject. 

“Shut up, no it isn’t, what’s in the bag?” Flash asks, reaching for it. Peter puts his head in his hands as Flash unzips the bag, hiding his burning face. “Holy shit!” Flash exclaims. Yep, Peter definitely wants to die now. “I thought you stopped painting your nails?” Flash asks, voice soft. 

_ Oh, fuck _ . 

“Yeah, I, uh, I was thinking I might get back into it,” Peter mumbles, blushing all the way down to his chest. 

“You should! I always liked it,” Flash blurts out. 

“Is that why you never mentioned it, asshole?” Peter laughs, trying not to sound as serious as he was. 

“I mean, yeah. Ok, don’t make fun of me, but I really liked it. I could always tell what mood you were in by the color, until you went all emo sophomore year. Plus, you never gave a shit what anyone thought about it. I was always kinda jealous of how unbothered you were, didn't really wanna ruin it by faking insults,” Flash says, now the one blushing. Peter wants to float away. He wants to kiss his rosy cheeks. 

“Well, what color should I do tonight?” Peter asks, nodding toward the bag. Flash beams as he immediately starts digging through the bag and Peter wants to cry with how happy he is. 

Flash holds up a baby blue bottle and Peter immediately takes it from him, their fingers brushing around the glass. It's almost the exact same color as the little camera that Flash just gifted him. Flash hops up from the bed to put on one of his records, soft music flowing through the air before he runs to get a towel to place on the bed and protect it from stray polish. Peter starts to unscrew the bottle and his heart drops to his stomach as his shaky hands refuse to get a good enough grip. He bites his lip as he struggles with the bottle, hating himself more with each passing second.  _ He’s ruining such a good thing right now, he’s going to let Flash down and Flash is going to hate him for being so complicated and stupid and weak and _ , and there are two warm hands on top of his. 

Flash’s hands move to cover his gently, slowly taking the bottle from Peter’s twitching hands and unscrewing it. Peter takes a deep breath and tries not to cry. 

Flash looks him in the eye, his soft brown eyes boring into Peter’s own as he raises his eyebrows in a silent question. Peter nods, unsure of what he’s even agreeing to. Slowly, Flash grabs his left hand, tugging it slightly before settling cross-legged in front of the smaller boy. Then he paints the nail of Peter’s pointer finger. 

Silence hangs heavy over the room, Flash’s music softly underlying the sound of their breathing. Flash laughs gently under his breath when he gets nail polish all over Peter’s fingertip, still somehow missing his nail entirely. Peter giggles, too, before directing Flash on how to hold the little brush. After that, the tension is broken, and they spend the next hour slowly painting Peter’s nails and talking quietly to one another. They both know there’s no reason to whisper, but talking normally somehow feels wrong. The silence feels too meaningful, too important to break. After getting up to flip the record, Flash hops on the bed again and scoots impossibly closer to get better access to Peter’s other hand, resting the first hand gently on Flash’s thigh to dry. 

Flash ducks down to focus on Peter’s right hand and Peter watches as his hair falls a bit to cover his forehead. Peter itches to push it away but knows he can’t ruin his nails. So, he watches the little chunk of hair rest in front of Flash’s head, his eyes travelling down the other boy’s face slowly. He takes every bit of him in, taking advantage of Flash’s shifted focus.

Flash looks up from Peter’s now-painted right hand to meet Peter’s eyes. He smiles a bit at the dazed look that must be gracing Peter’s red face. 

“How’d I do?” Flash asks, still in a whisper. 

“Perfect,” Peter responds, not even looking at his nails. Flash beams with pride, turning a little pink under the praise. He tends to shy away from it, uncertain after years of abuse, and it breaks Peter's heart each time. Not this time, though. This time, Flash _glows_ with it.

“Just like you,” Flash whispers. If Peter didn’t have super-hearing, he honestly doesn’t know if he would have heard. But he does, and he did. Peter ducks his head, unsure of what to do with himself and how to take the compliment. He knows it isn’t true, but it also makes his chest warm and his stomach flutter. Peter looks up when he feels Flash’s hand on his chin, nudging his head up so he can look at Peter. Their eyes meet, Flash’s so wide and heartfelt that Peter’s heart clenches. Flash blinks meaningfully at Peter before he takes a deep breath.

Then, he kisses Peter. 

Peter gasps as Flash’s large hand moves to cup his cheek, his thumb grazing Peter’s cheekbone so softly it feels like the whispers they’ve been exchanging. It’s a quick kiss, the light touch of Flash’s smooth lips to Peter’s chapped ones. Just as Peter’s eyes flutter closed, Flash pulls away. 

“I’m so sor-” Flash starts, looking a bit dazed, but Peter cuts him off. 

“Shut up, Flash,” Peter says with a grin, pressing his lips back against Flash’s. The other teen melts into the kiss, his hands coming back up to cradle Peter’s head. He curls his fingers in the short hairs at the base of Peter’s neck, his fingernails gently grazing the other boy’s scalp. Peter’s fingers clench where his hands rest on Flash’s thighs, his nail polish still drying. 

It’s torture for Peter not to be able to touch Flash. He holds himself back, though, not wanting to ruin Flash’s hours of hard work that led them to this point. Instead, Peter lets himself be caressed by Flash, basking in the gentle swoops of Flash’s hands across his  _ faceneckarmschest _ . 

Flash finally pulls away after a minute or so, the two boys breathing heavily as Peter shifts forward to press his forehead against Flash’s. He giggles gently when Flash brings his hands slowly down Peter’s arms, ghosting over his skin and making the little hairs on his forearms stand on end. They come to rest just above Peter’s wrists, his thumbs sliding beneath the sleeves of his sweater to rub small circles into the papery skin there.

“Happy New Year, Peter,” Flash whispers. Peter thinks his heart may give out when he hears his name spoken so gently from the other boy’s lips.

“Happy New Year.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!! I hope you all like how they got together, I intended to do it in the most innocent, teenage way possible. Hopefully, this starts your new year off well!


	18. Back to School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support of the last chapter!! I'm over the moon about how far the boys have come, I hope you all feel the same! This chapter is a bit short, but I wanted to give y'all some kind of update while I figure out my next steps for this storyline. More notes at the end of the chapter, enjoy!

It’s like after that night, a dam was broken. The two boys are so touch-starved that, now that they have the opportunity to, they are constantly in contact. Whether it’s their knees pressed together under their chemistry lab desk, their pinkies linked covertly as they weave through the crowded subway station, or Flash pulling Peter fully into his lap while they are alone in their apartments, there is rarely a time when they are not touching. Peter feels like the luckiest person in the world every time Flash looks at him like he’s worthy of even a hint of the other teen’s love, feels his heart skip a beat every time Flash touches him without hesitation. In turn, Peter tells Flash how amazing he is at every opportunity. He refuses to stop complimenting Flash’s nail-painting skills, his music taste, his clothes, anything. It’s a small victory each time Flash accepts the compliments, and a huge one when he responds with a sarcastic “I know,” or “Yep!”

The only exception to this rule is school. 

Neither teen is out and neither really feels the need to come out at all. Flash is terrified of ruining his reputation even further, already knowing it is in jeopardy after the other students found out about his parents’ deaths. The night before they went back to school, Flash spent hours obsessing over how to balance his “image” and his newfound relationship with Peter. Peter assured him that he didn’t mind Flash’s joking jabs, that he could handle any teasing Flash threw his way as long as he received equal, if not more, reassurance. It took Flash multiple days to get the hang of it, when the time came, but they finally found a rhythm. Flash would gently “bully” Peter for his terrible clothing taste or his grades, both of which Peter said weren’t off limits, and stayed away from topics such as Peter’s money, family, or home life. In exchange, Peter received doting compliments and a nearly insufferable amount of reassurance from Flash as soon as the two teens were alone. Sometimes, this included a secret midday meetup in Peter’s favorite single-stall bathroom. These visits were far more comforting that Peter’s previous use for that location.

Peter honestly, really just doesn’t care about keeping their relationship a secret. It’s not like he has anyone he’s dying to tell anyway. May is barely ever around, her relationship with Peter being shoved so far onto the back burner that Peter suspects it may not even be on the metaphorical stove anymore. He hasn’t talked to Ned or MJ in months, the two so caught up in their own lives and so betrayed by Peter’s flaky behavior that they seemed to want nothing to do with him. 

Chemistry is, ironically, Peter’s guaranteed safe haven at school. He and Flash continue to pretend that they tolerate each other at best, which isn’t hard with how often they still jokingly make fun of one another. The difference now, though, is how their feet are tangled together under the lab desk, or how their knees bump each other gently with every teasing jab, or how Flash’s fingers linger against Peter’s painted ones when they exchange lab tools or the snacks that Flash has long since determined a part of their routine. 

While Peter is indescribably happier than he was the previous semester, he also forgot how overwhelming life was when he was in school. Now that the spring semester has started, Peter has to juggle college applications on top of his rigorous course load, Spider-Man, and his new relationship. 

Flash is a trooper, sitting down with Peter for hours at his little kitchen table to work on their applications together and sneaking extra food on Peter’s plate while he hyper-focuses on his computer. Peter tries to return the sentiment, brushing his fingers through Flash’s overgrown hair when the other boy complains of a headache. Peter knows he isn’t doing enough, realizes belatedly that he can never imagine being enough for Flash, but he’s trying. He puts his heart and soul into becoming everything Flash asks, even if he can’t be what Flash needs. 

Peter wishes he could remember the exact second that Flash became home. He realizes it, one day, in Flash’s room. He’s taking pictures of Flash without the other boy’s knowledge, aiming his phone at Flash and catching snapshots of him changing the record on the record player or messing with his overgrown hair or turning the page of a textbook. Peter saves his favorites, which are all of them, to transfer to his computer and print out later. He still feels guilty using the polaroid, knowing that he would inevitably run out of film and need to buy more. He can’t stop taking pictures, though. After seeing how happy the other pictures made Flash, Peter wants to do whatever he can to make the other boy smile like that again. 

He’ll do whatever it takes to be enough for Flash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think of this chapter! Also, with the acceptance of MJ's chapter, I'm thinking of adding some more chapters from their POV. Would y'all be on board with that? Any suggestions or requests on what you want to see from them or how they could play a role in Peter's story? I have a couple of ideas, but I always love your input! I'm also unsure about a Ned chapter later on, I was trying to stick to one main POV but I think Ned deserves a bit of screen time soon... let me know what you think!


	19. Anxiety and Big Questions

She’s glaring at him. MJ is not just looking at him, but glaring. What has he ever done to her? She’s the one who kicked him off the team, she’s the one who went ice cold on him without warning, she’s the one who decided that he wasn’t worth her time anymore. Peter’s mad, because of course he’s mad, but he can’t even blame her. He can’t blame her for giving up on him, because he’s been about 3 minor catastrophes and a breakup away from doing the same. What he can blame her for, though, is all of this fucking glaring. 

Ever since he’s returned from winter break, MJ's eyes have been boring through his skull and into his soul. She's everywhere, even more so than she used to be, and it makes Peter's skin crawl. Is he really that dangerous that she thinks she constantly has to keep an eye on him? Or maybe he’s just that repulsive, that ugly and gross and fat and scrawny and weird that she can’t look away. Like a train wreck. Peters has been feeling a lot like a train wreck, these past few months. 

After a week and three days, Peter comes to a realization. a terrible, shitty, horrible realization. Maybe she knows. 

Not about Spider-Man, for once, like everything usually is—but about them. She can’t have been watching him for this long without noticing something, someone, else. _Flash_. MJ fucking knows. 

She sees the way Peter looks at Flash, she sees how they don’t flinch around each other like they do everyone else, she sees and she knows and she’s _disgusted_. 

Peter isn’t dumb enough to think that MJ is actively homophobic. He knows that a number of her friends are gay or queer or bisexual or something, he’s seen their flags in their social media bios and pictures of them at pride. What he does know, though, is that she’s never in those pictures. She doesn’t have her pronouns in her bio, she’s always the one taking the pictures rather than the ones in the pictures, she never posts anything on her own accounts of the sort, even in support. So yeah, she may not be homophobic, but she doesn’t exactly seem... excited by it? Welcoming? Fuck, Peter doesn’t know. All he knows is that MJ can tell that he and Flash have something, a thing, and she’s glaring at him non stop because of it. 

\---

After another day or so of catching MJ staring at him constantly, Peter’s anxiety reaches an all-time high. His skin has been crawling for days, the constant feeling of eyes on him increasing his ever-constant state of paranoia and messing with his spidey senses. Peter fiddles with the soft fleece blanket covering his shoulders, twisting the two opposing corners together in front of him and then unravelling them, only to repeat the motion again. 

“Baby, you ok?” Flash asks from across the room where he’s sitting at his desk, catching up on an English essay that he’s been procrastinating on for days. As much as Flash loves English and writing, he absolutely despises being told what to write about. His back remains facing Peter, but he twists a bit so Peter catches a glimpse of his profile. He looks stunning as always, his skin glowing a soft gold under the artificial light of his crappy plastic desk lamp. 

Peter hesitates for just a second before answering, his desire to keep from becoming a burden nearly outweighing his anxiety. Nearly. “Can I ask you something?” He finally forces the question out from between his lips, one of the hands that were fiddling with the blanket falling covertly to press into one of the still-healing wounds on his thigh. He feels a bit guilty relying on these methods around Flash, but the prickling sensation on his skin is too much to handle and the pain makes it stop. 

“Sure, what’s up?” Flash asks, still not really understanding how serious Peter is. Peter doesn’t mind this, never minds this, because Flash’s eternal optimism is what keeps him afloat. 

“Do, uh, do you think MJ knows? A-about us?” Peter mumbles, stumbling over his words as panic seeps into his mind. He knows how much Flash would hate being outed at school and his stomach drops at the thought of the other boy leaving him because of it. MJ was his friend, so it would be his fault if she ever told anyone. 

Flash freezes at the sentence before finally turning around to face Peter. His face remains blank for a moment, one terrifying moment, before his eyes go soft. Flash stands slowly, walking over to where Peter is sitting on his bed. He doesn’t break eye contact, not even when Peter himself looks away, and his warm brown eyes meet Peter’s easily when he finally looks back up. 

“Can I sit, Pete?” Flash asks quietly, looking uncertain. Peter nods, holds his breath as Flash settles, straight-backed, next to him. Their legs don’t touch. Peter doesn’t breathe. “Why would you think she knows?”

Peter can tell that Flash is trying to sound indifferent, he’s heard that voice so many times over FaceTime when Flash… when he used to live at home. That voice makes Peter want to cry. He thinks, though, that it might make Flash want to cry, too. He’s scared. 

“She’s been, uh, looking at me? A lot? Like, not just looking, but glaring. She hasn’t looked at me in months, Flash, and now it’s like her eyes are constantly on me. And she always looks at us in chemistry, maybe she’s seen something? I dunno Flash, I just, fuck. I think she knows,” Peter rambles, his anxiety getting the better of him. His voice shakes as he pulls at the blanket with renewed vigor, the soft material turning warm and a bit damp from his sweaty hands. 

Flash says nothing, for a minute. Maybe longer, Peter can’t tell. Then, “Do you think she’d tell anyone?” 

“No? Maybe? I don’t know, honestly,” Peter mumbles. He feels sweaty and anxious and it’s all he can do to stay seated instead of running off and clawing at his skin. He picks at his nail polish instead. 

“Ok,” Flash says quietly. When Peter looks up at him, he nods a bit, repeating himself with a bit more confidence, “Ok, then.” 

“What do you mean, ‘ok?’” Peter asks, panic seeping into his voice once more. Fuck, he really has to get a handle on his anxiety. 

“Hey, woah, don’t panic, love,” Flash says, his hand coming to grasp one of Peter’s shaking ones. Peter tries not to pull out of his grip even though he knows his hands are slick with sweat. He’s gross. “I just meant, like, it’s ok? MJ keeps to herself, I can’t see her telling anyone. And that’s if she even does know, right? We can keep an eye on her, maybe talk to her if we agree that she’s catching on? And in the meantime, we just keep doing what we’re doing. Nobody else has noticed, and honestly, I don’t wanna stop. I like touching you, and talking to you, and I really like our secret meet-ups. You’re mine, darling, and I’m gonna do what makes us happy. Anyone else can get fucked, ok?” Flash’s tone becomes more and more fierce as he’s speaking and it makes Peter’s whole body grow warm. Flash called him his, he said he likes him. 

Peter takes a deep breath, doing his best to internalize what Flash just said. He doesn’t quite believe that Flash likes touching him, but other than that, all of his statements check out. 

“Ok,” Peter says after a second, smiling a bit as Flash knocks his shoulder against Peter’s. “I, uh, I like all of that, too. A lot,” he blushes deeply, squishing down the little voice in his head that’s yelling for him to say a different L word. Another time, Peter reassures himself. If Flash decides to stick around. 

“Well, on that note,” Flash smirks a bit, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tries to keep a straight face. “I have something to ask you.” 

Peter decides that maybe he needs to get his heart checked. It can’t be normal for it to skip a beat so often, nor for it to feel like it’s going to soar out of his chest one second and drop to the floor the next. 

“How do you feel about making things official? Like, being my boyfriend?” Flash asks, sounding both uncertain and steadfast at the same time. 

“Really?” Peter aks. _Boyfriend_? Flash really wants to be his boyfriend? It sounds so permanent, so… official. As Flash nods, looking so brave and so perfect, Peter can’t help but think that he doesn’t deserve him. Yet, Peter is selfish. He’s selfish and stupid and so, so enamored by this boy and he just can’t say no. “Yeah, of course, yes,” Peter scrambles to find the words that reflect how he feels at the moment, but he can’t. 

Thankfully, Flash seems satisfied. He leans forward to plant a gentle, closed-mouth kiss on Peter’s lips, gives his hand a squeeze, and hops up from the bed. “Ok, then,” Flash teases before sitting back down at his desk. He seems to want Peter to think he’s working again, but Peter can see his shoulders moving in jerky motions, can hear his heart thumping in his chest. It takes nearly half an hour for them both to calm back down, and during that time, Peter decides that he’s the luckiest bastard in the world. 

Other than the tingling sensation still left on his skin from the ever-present eyes of his new stalker/ex-friend, that is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to keep minor character POVs to a minimum, I've grown so attached to Peter's own perspective to make switching things up a regular thing. Please excuse him and Flash for all of the misgendering, it will likely continue for a while, since MJ has yet to come out to anyone and they are still extremely unaware of their identity. Also, don't blame MJ for their lack of pride... often, trying to hide one's identity results in over-shooting and coming off as unaccepting or even hateful. This isn't MJ's intention, obviously, but it's a common consequence for closeted people. 
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think of this chapter! How do you feel about Peter and Flash's relationship? What do you think of Flash's little confession, and his Big Question?


	20. Breakdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay in updates, I just moved back on campus for my second semester at college. I hope this chapter finds everyone well, please enjoy! As always, let me know what you think!

Flash’s hands slide up Peter’s sides, bunching up his chunky knit sweater and fisting it between his long fingers. Peter’s breath hitches as Flash attaches his lips to the sensitive skin just below Peter’s ear. His fingers tangle in Flash’s long hair, shaking mildly with Peter’s uneven breaths as he tries to keep his mind under control. Flash is so touchy, so tactile, but Peter just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get what Flash sees in him. 

Peter freezes when he feels Flash’s fingers delve beneath his sweater. Flash must feel it, too, because he immediately pulls his hands away and rests them around Peter’s shoulders. Flash is used to Peter tensing up when he grazes over Peter’s torso, though lately Peter hasn’t minded as much. But now, the thought of Flash’s hands touching his bare stomach makes him want to sprint. 

Peter knows he’s ugly. He gets it, he really does. He knows that his arms are too bony and his stomach is too flabby and his hair is too greasy and his eyebags are too dark. He knows that his hands are too shaky and clammy and gross for Flash to hold for long, because the other boy always retreats to wrap his arms around Peter’s shoulders or stick them in the other boy’s pockets or rest them on his biceps. 

He understands that Flash is with him out of pity, or necessity, or boredom. Peter gets that Flash is like him now--an orphan, lonely. Flash is only with Peter because he’s the only one around. Flash’s friends dropped him despite his best efforts after his parents died and he sold their “party house,” and he was left with nobody but Peter. Peter knows that if Flash still had his friends, he wouldn’t be with Peter. He wouldn’t date someone like Peter if he had any other options, but Peter is still so grateful. 

Peter knows it’s pathetic, but he’ll take whatever he can get from Flash. With every passing day, though, Peter realizes that he’ll lose so much when Flash leaves him. He gives the other boy a piece of himself each day, giving and giving everything he possibly can even though he knows it will never be enough to keep Flash. 

\---

Peter hasn’t slept over at Flash’s apartment since New Year’s Eve. He still patrols at night, doing his best to keep the city safe. He’s more anxious now, though, when he gets caught up in a fight that he isn’t certain he can win. Flash’s voice rings in the back of his mind, phrases like “see you tomorrow” and “I miss you already” making him duck a little faster and run a little harder. 

Peter can’t shake his instinct to put himself last, though. It seems like one second he is fighting back with all he’s worth and the next the energy is draining from his body and suddenly a fist would collide with his jaw or a knife would bury itself in his thigh. As loud as Flash’s voice is in his head, the other voice that taunts him and tells him he isn’t good enough is even louder. 

One thing Peter knows for certain is that love doesn’t fix everything. Usually, it makes it worse. He loves Flash, even if he isn’t sure that Flash loves him, but that doesn’t mean that all of his problems have suddenly disappeared. 

Peter still gets panic attacks at least once a week. He still curls up on the bathroom floor with his knees to his chest and his fingers grappling for any open wound he can find. He still pokes and prods at every scabbed-over scar that covers his body, the frequency of their appearance becoming more and more noticeable. Peter knows that Flash has started to catch glimpses of them. He knows that Flash’s palms have brushed over the thick, banded scar on his left bicep and that the long, thin scar on his right forearm looks a little too straight and a little too deep to be accidental. He sees how Flash looks at him sometimes, like he’s going to fall apart at the seams or disintegrate into thin air. 

He sees all of this, yet he can’t help himself. 

Peter can’t stop himself from refusing to spend the money for food that May leaves on the table, hiding it away between couch cushions and in the backs of drawers for her to find and be happily surprised by later. He can’t help that Flash is the only person he feels safe enough to eat around, and even then he refuses to eat enough to actually feel  _ full,  _ guilt still clouding his mind at how much he eats and how selfish he is. He can’t stop himself from pinching at his papery skin and shaking his head at Flash’s gentle compliments. Peter can’t stop the tears from rushing to his eyes as he runs on three hours of sleep at school, his teachers’ worried glances boring into his skull and nestling themselves right beside his insecurities. He can't shrug off the eyes constantly lingering on his back, his skin crawling as he feels simultaneously too big and too small for it, the weight of MJ's eyes on him making him scratch and pick at his skin to make it stop buzzing with anxiety. 

Worst of all--actually, Peter probably knows this is objectively the most harmless thing he does, but to him it’s the worst--he’s started picking at his nail polish. When he’s stressed, he finds himself clawing at the delicate polish coating his nails, his shaky hands struggling to chip away at the stubborn color. They’re painted a light, pale yellow today and Peter hates himself for ruining Flash’s careful handiwork. The other boy has started to have to re-paint Peter’s nails at least once a week, gently removing what’s left of the previous week’s polish to replace it with a smooth coat in a different color. 

Flash doesn’t seem to mind, but Peter knows he’s being a handful. He can’t help but wonder when Flash will have enough of him, when he’ll give up on Peter just like Ned, MJ, and May did. When he’ll decide it’s time to let him go just like Tony did. If he’ll have to let Flash go first like he did with Ben, or even his parents.  _ Fuck, he hasn’t thought of his parents in forever... _

“Peter? What’re you thinking about, baby?” Flash asks, shaking Peter from his thoughts. 

A couple of days ago, after their "making things official" conversation, Peter blushingly admitted that he loves pet names. Flash guessed, of course, catching Peter beaming every time the other boy calls him baby, darling, gorgeous. Flash, on the other hand, loathes being called anything at all, which is ironic because his name is literally a nickname. Peter takes every opportunity to make Flash cringe with stranger and more embarrassing pet names, calling him pumpkin, sweet pea, lovemuffin, and, one hilarious time, sugartits. That one earned him a glare that made Peter squirm uncomfortably but also made his heart race. 

“Nothing, nothing. Sorry,” Peter responds, shaking his head. Flash doesn’t need to hear any of that bullshit. He’s got enough going on with his own life. 

“It’s alright, darling.” Peter feels a warm hand wrap around his bicep and he  _ breathes _ . 

\---

Flash FaceTimes Peter in tears a few nights days later, sobbing uncontrollably. 

It was a Thursday evening and Peter was trying to rest before patrol, a new habit that he picked up after Flash kept asking why Peter would look so tired in the mornings. Peter smiles at the sight of Flash’s icon popping up on his phone, but that smile immediately disappears when he sees the tear-stained face of his boyfriend. 

“Am I a terrible person?” is the first thing Peter hears when he picks up the phone. Peter’s heart breaks and alarm bells ring in his mind. Something isn't right. Flash is one of the best people Peter knows. Sure, he made some mistakes in his past, but the only person he ever actually hurt was Peter and that’s basically nothing. Flash is so warm and caring and  _ good _ , so much better than Peter is, that it makes him sick just hearing Flash ask him that question. 

“No, Flash, oh my God. Why?” Peter says emphatically, confused as all hell. They’ve gone so long without either one of them breaking down in front of the other, Peter has almost forgotten how devastating it feels to be on the other side of a panic attack. 

“I’m glad they’re gone,” Flash whispers. Peter sits up in bed, pulling off his sheets as he tries to figure out what Flash means. Then it hits him--Flash’s parents. 

“Why?” Peter asks again before he can help himself. Flash looks at him through the screen, tears streaming down his face and reflecting the light around him. 

“I don’t have to hurt anymore,” Flash whispers, and Peter’s throat clogs.  _ Oh _ . “He’s gone, and I don’t have to hurt. She doesn’t get to let him, anymore.” 

Peter notices a pair of headlights shining behind the teen, just then realizing that the other boy is not in his room. “Flash, where are you?” Peter asks, panic creeping into his voice. Flash’s eyes meet his, and Peter stops breathing. 

“I don’t know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T KILL ME FOR THE CLIFFHANGER!!! I promise to update soon!


	21. Dying and Being Reborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight CW for intrusive thoughts and general Peter Panic, nothing out of the ordinary but we're definitely getting right into it! Get ready for a rollercoaster, folks...

Peter spends nearly three hours looking for Flash. He put on his suit before even hanging up with Flash, directing his camera at the ceiling as he struggled into the material and nearly fell over in his haste. He told Flash to  _ please, just stay put _ , but the other teen just laughed mirthlessly. A car horn sounded in the background. Peter started to cry. 

This, Peter thinks, must be what dying feels like. His arms quake as he swings through the city, exhaustion invading his bones as he moves faster than he ever has. He’s stopped caring what he knocks into, bruise after bruise coloring his fragile skin as he moves with a one-track mind. Peter shakes his head against the black spots forming in his vision, torn between wanting to lie down before he passes out and _needing_ to find Flash. Tears soak his mask as he swings through the city, making it stick to his face uncomfortably like a wet towel. Peter absentmindedly thinks of Tony's brief recounting of being water-boarded and nearly lets himself fall, his entire body shaking violently with a combination of old and new panic. 

Flash is dying. Flash is dying, and all Peter can think about is his own fucking self. He's being so selfish, so terrible, and it's all his fault. Everyone he gets close to dies, or leaves him. It was only a matter of time before Flash followed in their footsteps, all Peter can do now is save him so he can leave on his own terms. Flash doesn't deserve to die for Peter's mistakes, this he knows for sure. When he finds Flash, after he makes sure he's safe, he'll let him go. _Please, God, give him the chance to find Flash before he has to let him go. Please don't let him already be gone._

Logically, he knows that Flash is probably already dead. He thinks of the facts, switching on his "hero mode" and trying his best not to be distracted by the sound of his own heart breaking. Flash called him multiple hours ago, wandering with cars behind him. He was crying. He had nobody else, Peter was too slow. Logically, he's dead. Yet, Peter can't accept that. He'll keep looking, he'll look forever if he has to, but he'll be the one to find Flash. The phrase "dead or alive" enters his mind, but one especially hard collision with a balcony knocks it out of him. Peter's grateful for the distraction.

Peter when finally finds Flash on the shoulder of a bridge nearly an hour outside of the city limits, he forces himself to stop a few feet away. As he catches his breath, he tries to think of what to say. He has to get Flash back to safety, no matter what. Then... then, he'll let him go. He barely knows where they are, just knowing that he’s searched the entirety of New York City for this beautiful, broken, _alive_ boy. This fragile, vulnerable boy who is crumpled like a discarded paper doll on the side of a bridge. 

“Hey!” Peter yells, not knowing how else to get the boy’s attention without revealing himself. This whole hiding thing is getting old. 

Flash’s head jerks in his direction, eyes widening at the sight of his hero right in front of him. “Spider-Man?” Flash whispers in disbelief. Peter walks toward him slowly, hands up in what he hopes is a non-threatening stance. 

“What’re you doing up here?” Peter asks, hoping against hope that it isn’t what he thinks. 

“I-I’m, uh, I’m scattering my parent’s ashes,” Flash says, gesturing at the black box in his hand with a vacant expression.  _ Fuck _ . That’s… well, that’s honestly better than what Peter thought, so he counts it as a strange win. “Wait, why are you even here? Don’t you only help people in the city? Like, you know, ‘Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man’?” Flash asks. His eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, but he's just as coherent and curious as always. Fuck, he's okay. Thank God he's okay.

_ Fuck _ . Peter doesn’t know what to say. What the hell could his explanation be for this? Flash is right, he never leaves the city, not since the last field trip when everything went to shit. 

And Peter’s tired. He’s so tired of hiding himself from his boyfriend, of trying to explain his scars and the bags under his eyes and why he can never sleep over. 

So, Peter makes a decision. It’s a stupid-ass decision, not to mention that it goes against everything he's decided just moments earlier, but who the fuck cares. It’s  _ his  _ decision. 

Peter takes a couple of steps forward, until he's right in front of Flash. He takes a deep breath, watching the other boy's face twist into a look of confusion and awe as Peter tugs his mask over his head.

“I’ll always come when you call, Flash.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaand we have another cliffhanger... The torture will be over soon! I already have the first half of the next chapter written, but I would love to hear all of your thoughts!!! How will Flash respond? Did Peter make the right choice? WHAT WILL HAPPEN NOW???
> 
> Also, what are your thoughts on Flash's situation? Is there anything you'd like to see from his relationship with his parents in the future? 
> 
> As always, I absolutely LOVE to read your comments and hear your opinions!!!


	22. Identity Crisis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with an extra-long update to make up for my string of cliffhangers! I won't say it's a happy one, but at least some communication occurs. Say what you will for these two idiotic, self-sacrificing teenaged boys, but at least they know how to communicate. 
> 
> Also, please enjoy the brief Flash POV at the beginning of the chapter!

“I’ll always come when you call, Flash,” Peter says as he tugs off his mask.

The first thing Flash can think is, holy fucking shit I should’ve known. 

Flash’s mind goes completely blank afterward, a rush of _WHATTHEFUCK_ mixed with… pride? The vase drops from his hands, Peter’s arm shooting out to catch it before Flash can even blink again. That’s… fucking unnerving. Peter gently sets the vase on the ground next to them, seemingly unfazed that his entire arm just moved in a matter of milliseconds. 

“You motherfucker!” Flash hears himself yell, face twisting into angry disbelief. Peter flinches a bit, likely startled by the other boy’s unexpected response. Flash’s heart clenches at that, his surprise and shock wearing off for a second as he remembers his and Peter’s combined history.

“W-what?” Peter asks, confused. Flash can’t help but admire the pretty pink blush that colors Peter’s cheeks, his hair still wild from wearing that fucking mask. His fucking hero vigilante  _ bullshit  _ mask. 

That’s when Flash realizes… he’s told Peter about his stupid hero vigilante  _ crush  _ on Spider-Man, who just so happens to be his literal boyfriend.

“You absolute asshole! You’re telling me that you’ve let me talk to you about my massive fucking crush on Spider-Man for months, Peter, months, and you haven’t said shit? This was before we even started dating! You massive fucking asshole!” Flash feels himself start to laugh, gently shoving at Peter’s shoulders before grabbing him and pulling him tightly against him. The blooming sense of pride that he felt just seconds before has blossomed into full-blown awe and love for his boyfriend. His boyfriend is a hero. Suddenly, it’s like they’re magnets, clinging together so strongly that nothing could tear them apart. Fuck the confusion, fuck the mild betrayal clinging to the back of his mind. He just found out that his boyfriend is a literal superhero. Flash’s chest is shaking with laughter where it’s pressed against Peter’s; meanwhile, Peter is still stock-still with shock. 

“That’s your issue here?” Peter asks quietly. 

“Of course that’s my issue, dork! What, did you expect me to be mad or some shit? Baby, I just found out that my boyfriend is my celebrity crush. Holy fuck, darling, I think I won. I literally just won life,” Flash exclaims, squeezing Peter tightly into the hug.  _ Why won’t he hug me back, already?  _

Flash can tell when Peter finally allows himself to relax into the hug, feeling the tentative yet strong weight of Peter’s arms around him. Flash smiles so hard his cheeks hurt. 

“So, you’re not mad that I hid it from you?” Peter asks after a minute, pulling away to look at Flash. 

The thing is, Flash really isn’t mad. Maybe it’s the adrenaline rush, maybe it’s the fact that he loves this idiot so fucking much, maybe he’s finally lost his mind. No matter the reason, Flash can’t find a single ounce of anger in his heart. It’s not big enough to hold it right now, not when it’s already filled to the brim with pride and love. 

Not to mention, Flash isn’t the only one with a reason to be mad. Sure, Peter kept a secret from him, but Flash would never have believed him if he tried to tell him. He probably would’ve assumed it was a joke, or would’ve bullied him for it months prior. Flash feels a hint of guilt tug at his chest, but he shoves it aside. He made some mistakes, but Peter forgave him. His sweet, beautiful, heroic Peter who’s still standing in front of him, hands shaking and heart racing, awaiting his response. 

“No, baby, I’m not mad at you. I obviously wouldn’t have believed you if you’d told me. I still didn’t fully believe you about the Internship, and I literally saw photographic evidence of you with Tony Stark. Oh my God you literally know Iron Man! You’ve fought with Iron Man! What the fuck,” Flash giggles. He tries to speak from the heart, but the hilarity of the situation sends him back into peals of laughter. His boyfriend is  _ Spider-Man _ ! 

Peter smiles at him, leading him to sit side by side on the edge of the road. Now that Flash has overcome his moment of shock, he can’t help but ask all of the questions that flood his mind. 

Flash spends the rest of the night interrogating Peter, and Flash can tell that Peter is doing his best to keep up with his questions. They make it back to Flash’s place around 2 in the morning, crawling into bed together after Peter rushes to the bathroom to clean up and change into a pair of Flash’s pajamas. Flash can feel the stupid smile lighting up his face when Peter walks back into the room, draped in his clothes, looking so innocent and so strong at the same time. He’s in long sleeves and a pair of Flash’s sweatpants, which Flash always thinks is a bit strange, but Peter must just get cold easily. Maybe it has to do with the spider DNA? Flash makes a mental note to ask him about it another time. Right now, though, he just wants to watch Peter blush as he runs his hands through the boy’s curly hair, wants to feel Peter’s breath hitch against his chest when he skims his fingers over Peter’s arms. 

\---Peter's POV---

Peter wakes up the next morning with the sun in his eyes and his boyfriend in his arms. His heart aches as he thinks back on the night before, his memories so vastly different from the scenario that plagued his mind that it seems like a dream. Peter can’t help but question Flash’s sincerity, knowing that it’s just a matter of time before the other shoe drops. The luster and shock of Peter’s identity will wear off soon enough, and all Flash will be left with is the knowledge that Peter lied to him. He’ll leave, just like everyone else. 

With that thought, Peter makes up his mind. He’s going to be so good, so perfect for his boyfriend, so maybe it won’t hurt so badly when Flash finally lets him go. Flash makes him feel weightless, a feeling Peter’s been chasing since the Bite. Flash gives him the same, stomach-swooping sensation that Peter feels when he lets himself freefall through the air between buildings, the same hot air balloon feeling in his chest that not eating for three days gives him. But it’s better, it’s so much better. Peter breathes deeply, nose tucked against Flash’s sleep-soft neck, and tries to remember what it feels like. He tries to catalogue every emotion, every moment of weightlessness, so he can remember it when Flash finally lets him drop. When the weight becomes too much, when  _ Peter  _ becomes too much, for him to handle. 

Peter feels tears prickle at the backs of his eyelids at the thought, mentally berating himself for being so weak. He can’t feel anything but guilty for how he knows this will end, it’s not fair to Flash. Flash is the one who deserves to mourn the relationship, Flash is the one who should be allowed to cry. Peter’s the liar, the betrayer, the monster. Mindlessly, Peter’s arm creeps down to shove a finger against one of the many new bruises decorating his torso. He finds a particularly painful spot at his left ribcage and pushes, the pain causing his breathing to halt and his whole body to lock up. 

Peter started to stay away from the wounds on his thighs and biceps about a week ago, after he started to feel the flesh give a bit too much. The sensation of flabby, squishy flesh under his shaking fingers is too much for Peter to handle, not when he’s seeking relief already. Now, he sticks to the concave expanse of his torso, revels in the ridges his ribs create against his taut skin. Even when he’s been eating so little, Peter has still managed to become soft. He can’t be soft, he can’t be weak, he needs his sharp edges and his hard lines. Still, he can’t bring himself to waste the food that Flash sets out for him, nor can he ignore the clawing, clenching sensation in his gut. He knows he’s walking a fine line, knows that the whole thing is spiraling out of control, but he can’t help it. It’s not like he isn’t eating on purpose, he knows that it’s just a side effect of his monetary situation, but he can’t figure out when it started to feel so good. He can’t remember when refusing another portion went from an act of saving money to a desperate need to stop right then, right now, before.... He can’t tell when he went from wanting to lessen his burden to wanting to lessen the number on the scale, from trying to eat less to trying to be less. 

A sudden breath from Flash rouses Peter from his trance, making him jerk his hand away from his torso. With the pain gone, his mind is fuzzy and dull. Peter rests his arm gently over Flash’s torso, tucking it between Flash’s side and his arm. It never fails to please him how little he looks compared to Flash, and the sight calms his frantic nerves. 

\---

Hours must have passed before Flash wakes up. Peter spent the time drifting in and out of a restless sleep, comforting himself with alternating harsh jabs at his own body and soft glances at Flash.

Flash wakes up just before noon, wide awake and tucking Peter tightly against him within moments. “Morning, baby,” Flash grumbles, squeezing Peter’s shoulder gently. Peter tries to hide the wince that escapes him upon the firm contact, but to his dismay, Flash notices. 

“Pete, what’s wrong?” Flash rasps out, his morning voice raspy as his eyebrows crease in worry.

“Nothing, promise,” Peter whispers, trying to divert Flash’s attention by circling his thumb over the other boy’s hand. 

“Hey, c’mon, you can tell me,” Flash says softly, his eyes huge and vulnerable. Peter hates making Flash look at him like this, so open and full of pity. He doesn’t like making Flash feel like the enemy, and he knows that Flash will blame himself for Peter’s wounds even when Peter knows he’s the only one to blame. 

“No, I’m good,” Peter grits out harshly, immediately regretting his tone when Flash starts to untangle their limbs and move away. Peter reaches out to grab his hand, but Flash moves it away, standing up from the bed and avoiding eye contact with Peter. “Flash, I-” Peter starts. 

Flash interrupts him, “Are you just going to keep lying to me forever, now?” 

Peter’s heart stops. He watches as realization dawns on Flash’s face, watches the other boy’s face fall into regret, watches it all with his blood rushing in his ears. 

Of course Flash blames him. He knew this was coming, he saw it all, but he couldn’t stop it. He was delusional to think that Flash would let him keep hiding shit after this, he was stupid to think that this could last any longer. Their spell has been broken, Peter’s fucked up life has made sure of that, and now it’s up to Peter to pick up the pieces and compile some sort of answer to keep Flash from leaving him just yet. He knows he deserves it, but he can’t seem to let Flash go. He realizes that every second he’s let Flash like him, he’s given Flash a piece of himself. If Flash leaves, when Flash leaves, he’ll be taking Peter with him. And, well, Peter isn’t quite sure he’s ready to be gone yet. 

“No,” Peter whispers. “No, I’m not going to keep lying to you.” 

“Okay, then. Fuck, Peter, just give me something here. I’m not trying to be a dick, I swear, but this is hard for me too,” Flash says, his voice taking on the monotone quality that it always does when he feels threatened and overemotional. “Did you, like, get hurt last night? Did you, um, patrol before coming to find me?” 

Peter’s heart jerks. He wishes he could say yes, that he could blame someone else for his injuries, some unnamed Bad Guy that Flash can hate instead of Peter. But he can’t, and he promised Flash that he wouldn’t keep lying. 

Peter takes a deep breath and says, “Yeah, it’s from last night. But, I didn’t go on patrol. I came to find you, and I knocked myself up a little in the process. I swear I’m ok, it happens all the time. Super-healing, remember?” Peter tries to soften the blow, to phrase it in a way that Flash won’t blame himself for Peter’s recklessness. Flash doesn’t need to know that Peter thought Flash was in danger of hurting himself last night, he doesn’t need to bear witness to Peter’s unstable mind or his projecting. 

“Did you hurt yourself trying to find me, Peter?” Flash whispers, the shakiness in his voice hurting Peter more than any hard fall or collision ever could. “Did I do this to you?” 

Well, so much for Flash not blaming himself. 

“Flash, you did  _ not  _ do this to me. It was my choice to come find you, I was the one who was reckless and dangerous. It’s not on you, it’s on me. The scars, the bruises, everything--they’re all on me. I just gotta get a little faster, be a little more careful, it’s nobody’s fault but mine,” Peter tries to reassure him. He’s confused, though, as Flash doesn’t look any happier. If anything, he looks more upset. 

“Baby, no. If I’m not allowed to blame myself, you’re not allowed to blame yourself. You try so hard, fuck, you’ve saved so many people. Do you even know how much good you’ve done? You gotta take care of yourself, darling, please,” Flash says, gripping Peter’s hand so tightly that his knuckles go white. 

Peter just nods. He doesn’t believe Flash, not one bit, but he isn’t going to tell him that. Flash has already been through enough, he’s already so fragile, Peter isn’t going to make him deal with his problems on top of everything else, too. 

“I’m setting some ground rules, though,” Flash says after a moment. Peter tenses up. Flash is gonna tell him to stop patrolling, he’s gonna take away Spider-Man, just like Peter always feared someone would. This is why he didn’t tell May, this is why he hid all of his stupid fucking issues from Tony. Spider-Man is everything to him, it is him. He can’t just give him up like this… “Hey, darling, I can literally feel you spiralling. Let’s just talk this through, okay?” Flash whispers, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. 

Peter nods, frantically tugging at his shaking fingers and picking at the skin to ground himself. 

“How about, everytime you get hurt on patrol, you come here? Now that I know, I can help you out. I’m, uh, pretty good at disinfecting and bandaging stuff. And, maybe you can sleep here after? Then you won’t be so tired, right?” Flash sounds so unsure, so self-conscious that Peter agrees before he can even think it through. This can’t be so bad, it’s not like Flash is making him give it up. He’ll figure it out, he’ll be good for Flash. Peter will be good, and will listen, and maybe Flash will put off leaving him just a bit longer.

Peter’s a fucking idiot. 

\---

The first night after Flash found out, he’s on his way home from patrol and gets a text from Flash, reminding him to stop by Flash’s apartment on his way home. Peter does, still suited up, and is hit with a realization. Flash won’t just shrug off his injuries. Peter literally agreed to let Flash baby him, to make himself an even greater burden to the teen. 

The boys spend nearly an hour patching Peter up; so long, in fact, that Peter ends up staying over. Flash applies bandage after bandage to Peter’s sliced-up arms, disinfecting cuts on Peter’s legs that the other boy wasn’t even aware of. By the time they fall asleep, side by side with matching exhaustion, Peter has nothing to prod. Nothing to stick his digits into to ward off the nightmares he knows are to come, no open wounds to fidget with the next day when everything gets too loud. 

That night, with his boyfriend lying on his quivering chest, Peter makes a decision. He can’t let Flash fix him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think of this chapter! I absolutely adore reading your comments!


	23. This Means (Tickle) War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF INTERLUDE! A lot of shit is about to go down, and has gone down, but this chapter is a reminder that there is always a little bit of good in life. No matter how down you are, or how terribly some aspects of life are going, there's always a hint of happiness. It's important to accept and document those moments, so I encourage you all to do the same in your lives! If you can't find anything yet, enjoy Peter's little moment. If you can, please still enjoy!

“Baby?” Flash’s voice sounds behind him from where the teen lies on his bed, Peter having stood up a moment ago to flip the record they were listening to. 

“Yeah, sexypants?” Peter teases, playing up Flash’s hatred for being called pet names. As expected, Flash groans dramatically before responding. 

“Shut up, you know I hate that shit,” Flash scowles, his eyebrows knitting together and his lips pursing as he tries to hide his smile behind an exaggerated frown. “ _ Anyway _ , I was gonna ask how patrols have been. You haven’t been coming over after like you used to, have you been out longer or something? Cause you know you can always wake me up, yeah?” Flash asks. 

Peter pauses, disguising his hesitation by moving back to the bed in silence. 

“They’re fine, just been really tiring. I haven’t gotten hurt as much, which is great, but I’m always so exhausted that I basically pass out as soon as I’m not working. I just, uh, I’m not much fun after, I guess?” Peter half-lies. Sure, he’s definitely injured basically every time he goes on patrol, but he’s also tired as hell after. It doesn’t count if he’s telling the truth too, right? At least, that’s what he tells himself. 

“Oh, ok. Well, you don’t have to, uh, be fun every time? If you just wanna come, like, cuddle after, that’s cool too?” Flash sounds unsure. Peter hates making Flash sound like that, making him question his own thoughts or feelings like his parents used to. He thought that telling Flash his Secret would let him stop lying to the other boy, but it seems to have done the opposite. Now, it just seems like a matter of time before Peter destroys everything.

“Since when do you say ‘cuddle,’ Thompson? Going soft on me, sugarcakes?” Peter teases, desperate to diffuse some of the tension he’s created. 

“Hey, fuck you, Parker! I’m not soft, I’m… I’m manly!” Flash exclaims, the shock of Peter’s overconfidence outweighing his concern for their previous conversation. It’s not often that Peter taunts Flash back, much less makes the first jab. 

“Manly, really? To me, it sounds like you’re a bit of a cuddlebug,” Peter giggles, raising an eyebrow at Flash’s look of haughty discontent. 

“I’ll show you cuddlebug!” Flash cries, tackling Peter down on the bed. Peter suppresses a grunt of pain when his sore, half-sprained elbow hits the mattress and instead focuses on the feeling of Flash’s body on top of his. 

He and Flash are extremely touchy, but it isn’t very often when they will have such full contact with each other unless they’re falling asleep or shyly snuggling while they watch a movie, and even then it isn’t this sudden. 

Peter shrieks as Flash digs his deft fingers into Peter’s stomach, tickling the curly-headed teen. Even through his many layers, Peter’s stomach quivers with the sensation, making him laugh until he’s breathless. 

“F-Flash!” Peter stutters out, fighting weakly against Flash’s attack. His cheeks hurt from how widely he’s grinning and he just knows that his face is bright red. 

“Surrender, Parker!” Flash jokingly commands, refusing to stop tickling Peter. Peter nods shortly, too out of breath to answer. “Good,” Flash gloats quietly, ducking down to bump the tip of his nose against Peter’s. It’s only then that Peter realizes that Flash has been lightly straddling him, sitting just below his pelvis on Peter’s thighs. Peter breathes sharply at the sensation, Flash’s eyes widening as he seemingly comes to the same realization.

Just as Flash is about to get up, Peter jerks his head upward to make his lips meet Flash’s. Flash sighs a bit into the kiss, leaning back down to meet Peter halfway. The pressure of Flash’s weight settling back down on Peter’s thighs is both comforting and maddening. 

Flash’s lips move slowly against his, slick and soft in contrast with Peter’s chapped and bitten ones. He belatedly thinks back to his musings of a few weeks ago when he wondered whether his lips would scratch and blemish the smooth skin of Flash’s own and he can’t help but smile slightly into the kiss. Flash is just as perfect as before. 

Peter decides he could get lost in the feeling of kissing Flash. The other boy’s hands migrated from where they were splayed across Peter’s stomach almost immediately and Peter tries not to feel disappointed or embarrassed. Instead, Flash runs his hands over Peter’s arms softly, his large palms hot against Peter’s arms even though his layers. One hand comes to a stop when it reaches Peter’s hand, Flash linking his fingers with Peter’s to grasp his hand against the sheets. The teens move together without a second thought, dragging their intertwined hands up and over Peter’s head. Peter gasps as Flash’s other hand wraps behind his back and under his neck, cradling Peter’s head from behind. 

“Ok?” Flash mumbles, pulling away long enough to ask the question and stare longingly into Peter’s eyes. Peter can only nod silently, eyes wide and mouth still barely open in shock at how Flash is looking at him. 

Flash looks at him like he’s something desirable, like he wants Peter just as much as Peter wants him. He smiles hugely, immediately ducking back down to kiss Peter again once his question has been answered, leaving Peter in awe. 

Eventually, Peter’s legs go numb and Flash’s neck hurts too badly for them to continue. They laugh a bit, awkward and clumsy as they sit up and shuffle into a more comfortable position. Flash ducks his head to hide his blushing as he strategically places a pillow over his lap and Peter can’t help but giggle at the sight, both proud and a bit secondhand-embarrassed for the other teen. Peter’s own libido isn’t exactly what it used to be, but he delights in knowing that he made Flash that… happy. He swings his legs up to rest on the pillow in Flash’s lap, giggling uncontrollably at the half-grunt-half-moan that escapes his boyfriend. Peter tries to pull away after a second, not wanting to be to heavy for Flash, but the other boy doesn't seem to mind the weight of Peter's legs in his lap. He simply swats at Peter lightly before tugging him against his chest, ruffling Peter’s already messy hair even more and pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

Once they’ve settled back against one another, Flash switches on the TV and puts on New Girl out of habit. Peter pulls Flash’s arm over his shoulder, linking their hands again and settling his head against Flash’s shoulder. He feels Flash rest his chin on top of Peter’s head, his chest and throat rumbling comfortingly behind Peter as he starts to talk about the show quietly. Peter presses a soft, closed-mouth kiss to the back of the hand he’s holding, smiling as Flash reaches down with his other hand to play with Peter’s hands in his lap. After a few minutes, Peter notices that his hands barely shake when they're resting in Flash's. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think of the chapter! It's a bit short and a bit plot-less, but I would love to hear your feedback :)


	24. Just Keep Breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummmmmmmm don't hate me 
> 
> Huge TW for violence, blood/gore, and intrusive thoughts

Peter ducks quickly, an arm swinging over his head as blood rushes in his ears. He hears screaming behind him, knows that it’s the little boy he’s trying to help. He was walking home from school when he heard the little boy sobbing in the alley, begging someone to stop. Peter suited up in the alley one block over and ran to the boy, beating himself up for the minutes he wasted changing. He needs to start wearing the suit under his clothes, he can’t keep wasting precious time for his own stupid comfort during the day. Maybe he should suit up at the end of school? Peter makes a mental note to figure it out later. 

A steel-toed boot lodges itself under his ribcage, knocking the air from Peter’s lungs as he coughs roughly. “Stay the fuck out of my business, mutant,” the man spits at him. Peter had walked in on him beating the young boy, throwing insults nearly as often as his punches. 

“Pick on someone your own size, dickface,” Peter hisses, struggling to pick himself up and get back to fighting this asshole. A fist collides with his cheek and Peter tastes blood. 

“Get the fuck up and I will,” the man says, laughing mirthlessly at the sight of Peter struggling to get up from the dirty concrete. 

_ C’mon, Spider-Man. Get up, you’ve got a kid to save. Don’t be selfish, you’ll heal. He won’t.  _

Peter stands unsteadily, shaking out his arms and preparing himself for another blow.  _ Better him than the kid, at least. _

What he isn’t prepared for, though, is for the man to pull out a handgun. Peter may be fast, but he isn’t faster than a bullet. Distantly, Peter wonders how something like this doesn’t happen to him more often. He can’t think for long, though, because suddenly the gun goes off and Peter feels a searing hot pain in his right arm. He cups his arm absently, too in shock to really react. It’s hot and sticky with blood. 

“Can’t outfight a gun, can you, freak?” the man asks, echoing Peter’s thoughts from mere seconds ago. “This will teach you to stay out of other peoples’ business. Stick to walking old ladies across the street.” The gun goes off again, a bullet lodging itself into Peter’s stomach. Peter buckles in on himself, cursing under his breath and holding back a sob. He breathes heavily for a second, trying to stay upright, but a final bullet to his shoulder knocks him down. “Mutant scum,” the man spits at him, grabbing the boy by his arm and dragging him out of the alley. On the way out, the man kicks Peter one last time, causing Peter to curl further in on himself. 

Peter has long since disabled Karen, and this is the first time he has regretted it. He doesn’t want Mr. Stark to know, but he wishes he could just ask her to call Flash for him. Or maybe he’d ask her to just talk to him while he bleeds out, give him some final moments of company. He doesn’t know if he deserves it, but he wishes he could just hear her voice one last time. 

Peter lies on the ground for what feels like forever, just bleeding into the concrete. He finally works up the courage to try to move, to crawl his way to the backpack that he stowed a few feet away. Peter slowly inches toward his backpack, small sobs clogging his throat as his whole body feels like it’s on fire. Bits of glass and debris cling to his tearing suit, some pieces sharp or small enough to embed themself in his skin. He grits his teeth and keeps pushing, desperate not to waste what’s left of his precious time. 

He finally makes it to his bag, his hands twitching so violently as he pulls out his phone that he drops the stupid thing twice. Peter finally manages to pick it up and uses bloody fingers to call the only person he can think to call--Flash. 

“Baby? What’s up, I thought you were on the subway?” Flash sounds confused, likely because Peter never gets service while he’s on the subway. Shitty phone, and all that. 

“F-Flash?” Peter coughs out. He can barely hear the other boy over the rush of blood in his ears and the fuzzy feeling invading his head. 

“Pete? Are you ok? What’s wrong, darling?” Flash asks, panic sneaking into his voice. 

“I’m, uh, I’m not ok. Fuck, Flash, I’m so far from ok,” Peter struggles to say, his words starting to slur. Fuck, he’s really tired. 

“Where are you?” Flash demands. 

“The, uh, the alley behind the apartment complex on the way to my place from school. I, uh, I walked today,” Peter coughs, the sound coming out watery and thick. “Flash, please, just wanna see you,” Peter cries, salty tears flowing down his face and getting stuck in his mask. 

“Fuck, baby, were you on patrol? During the day?” Flash asks, disbelieving. He made Peter agree the other day to only go on patrol at night, as it’s too dangerous during the day with the added risk of revealing himself. 

“M’sorry,” Peter mumbles, coughing again. 

“Dammit, Peter, you promised you would take care of yourself! What the fuck, why were you even,  _ shit _ ,” Flash rambles, his voice quaking with fear and confusion. 

“Sorry, Flash. ‘M so sorry. Had to, please,  _ so  _ sorry,” Peter chokes out, tears flowing even more freely now.  _ You disappointed him. He’s the only one you have left, you can’t pull this shit with him.  _ “Shouldn’t’ve called. Sorry. I just, I, I’m so sorry.” 

“No, no, shit. Darling, it’s ok, you’re ok. Glad you called, I’m on my way now. Hold on, honey, I’m almost there,” Flash sounds even more panicked now. Peter can’t really think straight, just continues apologizing into the phone. 

Flash finally arrives minutes later, running down the alley at the sight of Peter crumpled into a ball on the disgusting concrete. He’s surrounded by more blood than Flash has ever seen in his life, making the teen’s heart stop as he rushes over. 

“Baby? Peter, it’s me, hey,” Flash gently lays a hand on Peter’s shoulder, nearly vomiting when it comes away soaked in the smaller boy’s blood. 

“Flash?” Peter whispers, his eyes fluttering open to focus on Flash’s concerned face. His mask is pulled up over his head and Flash is grateful that nobody stumbled upon him in the past few minutes.    
  
“Hi, darling, it’s me,” Flash whispers, brushing Peter’s hair from where it’s clumped in the blood on his forehead. “Who do I call, baby? The hospital? Stark?” Flash sounds so scared, so panicked, that it hurts more than the bullet wounds. 

Peter shakes his head. “No, no hospital, please,” Peter forces out, the taste of blood corrupting his words as panic attacks his system at the very thought of a hospital. 

“Ok, baby, it’s ok. I’ll call Stark, I’ll fix this for you, baby. Just hold on, ok? Just hold on,” Flash assures him, grabbing Peter’s phone and scrolling frantically for Tony’s number. 

“N-no,” Peter coughs, shaking his head as emphatically as he can manage. “Please don’t, please don’t call him. I’m fine, I’m ok, just-- _ please _ ,” Peter rambles starting to shake and cry harder. He doesn’t want to bother Tony. He hasn’t spoken to the man in months, he can’t expect Tony to actually care about him enough to help. It’s not his job, not anymore, Peter isn’t his mentee anymore. Peter doesn’t really think he’s much of anything, anymore. 

“Peter, no, of course I’m going to call someone. Fuck, just, just keep breathing. It’s ok, baby, I’m gonna make it ok,” Flash says, putting pressure on Peter’s wounds as he taps on his phone. 

“No, no, ‘m so sorry. Please, Flash, don’t call. Don’t call, s’not worth it, please. Just hold my hand, yeah? Just wanna see you, Flash, please. So, so sorry.” Peter whines, actually  _ whines _ , his shaky hands fumbling around to find the one that Flash has placed on his stomach and grip at it with fading strength. 

Peter only sobs harder as he hears Flash’s voice in the background. “M-Mr. Stark? It’s Flash, I’m, uh, I’m Peter’s friend. He’s,  _ fuck _ , he’s not doing well right now. He’s, there’s so much blood, please, I don’t know what to do.  _ I don’t know what to do _ ,” Flash sounds so panicked, so scared, that it confuses Peter. He knows that he and Flash have gotten close, he loves Flash  _ so much _ , but why does Flash seem so upset? It’s just him, it’s not like it’s anyone important. Either he’ll heal, and this will be extremely embarrassing, or he won’t, and that’ll be, well, fine. 

Peter has always known that this was how he was going to go out. Ever since he was bitten, he knew he was living on borrowed time. There’s only one way for someone like him to go out, and it’s bloody. He knows this. He thought that Flash knew this, thought he explained it so Flash would understand. Peter must not have done well enough, though, because Flash is sobbing brokenly and Tony is on his way and Peter really just wants to close his eyes. 

So he does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY!! Feel free to vent in the comments I won't take it personally :))))


	25. Can't Hide Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter incoming! 
> 
> CW for intrusive thoughts, self-doubt, mild trauma response, and our general content warnings always apply

When Peter opens his eyes, he’s hit with a wave of nausea. He flinches upright, ducking to one side and dry heaving. His body feels like it’s been put through a wringer over and over, like it’s one sudden movement away from seizing up forever. Peter heaves over the side of the bed, sputtering and sobbing as nothing comes up. He hates how proud he is of himself, in that moment.  _ At least he didn’t make another mess _ . 

It’s only when he’s done hacking up a lung that he hears the chaotic beeping of machines around him. Peter realizes that he’s in a hospital of some kind, judging by the pristine white sheets and the machinery going off on his every side. He starts to panic, the events from before rushing back to him and he looks around the room frantically for Flash. 

Peter’s vision narrows and darkens as he struggles to breathe, a mix of an oncoming panic attack and the ache in his lungs leaving him gasping. Peter knows better than to rip out the needles and tubes protruding from his arms, instead focusing all of his energy on looking for the exits. The sound of the door opening startles Peter, causing him to swing his head dizzily toward it. He only calms down when he sees Flash walk through. 

“Peter, baby, it’s just me. You’re in Stark Tower, it’s Sunday afternoon, you’re safe. I’m here, your identity is safe. You okay?” Flash immediately rushes to Peter’s bedside, reassuring him with such confidence and kindness that Peter can’t help but take a deep breath.  _ He’s here, he’s safe, nobody knows.  _

“Flash,” Peter gasps around the tube in his throat, unable to come up with anything else to say. His name is meaningful enough. 

“I’m here, darling. You’re ok. We’re gonna be ok,” Flash whispers, sitting on the edge of Peter’s bed and carding his hands through the boy’s curls. Peter just breathes for a minute, listening to Flash’s voice and matching his inhales to the motion of Flash’s hand in his hair. 

Just as Peter finds a rhythm, the door opens again, startling him out of it. Tony walks through, looking pissed to all hell. 

“Peter. We gotta talk, kid,” Tony says flatly, giving Flash a meaningful look. Flash nods quickly, giving Peter one last caress across his cheek and a squeeze to his hand before leaving. Flash must not give a shit if Tony knows about them, and Peter is too touch-starved and scared to really question it. “Pete, what the fuck is going on?” Tony asks. It sounds more like an interrogation. 

“S-sorry?” Peter asks, confused by what Tony means. Obviously, what’s “going on” is that Peter is hurt and Flash was scared enough to call for help. That’s it. 

“In what world is it okay for you to disappear for months on end and for me not to hear a damn word from you until you get so hurt you’re nearly dead? Peter, you can’t just disappear like that! First May tells me that you’ve decided to stop coming by, which I totally understand, you know… I’m not exactly the easiest person to work with. But you didn’t even tell me, you just stopped answering my texts when I asked you to come by. Then, you disable Karen from your suit and cut me off even more. Pete, the only way I knew you were even alive was by hacking into the cameras outside of your school every few weeks! You completely dropped off the face of the Earth, scaring the shit out of me, and now you’re half-dead in a hospital bed. Getting that call from Flash--by the way, we’re gonna circle back to that shit, since when were you friends with that asshole?-- it nearly gave me a heart attack.” Tony speaks harshly, concern filtering through his voice despite his best efforts to sound disciplinary. 

Peter is confused. Again. He thinks it might just be his constant state of being, at this point. 

Why would Tony be so concerned about him? Peter’s been off his hands, he isn’t his responsibility anymore, hasn’t been for a while. It’s not like Spider-Man is an Avenger or Peter is his intern. 

“S-sorry,” Peter stutters again, unsure of himself. Tony’s face shifts from annoyed to… concerned? 

“Kiddo, I’m serious. I care about you, and you disappeared for  _ months _ . Then you come back to be half-dead, half-starved, and nowhere near the kid you used to be. May told me you were overwhelmed, but this is just excessive. What happened, Pete? Are you… depressed? Do you have, uh, issues with food? Should I call Bruce in to take a look in that head of yours?” Tony sounds one step away from crying, looking earnestly at Peter. 

“No, no, I swear I’m ok. May made me stop coming because, like, my grades and stuff. I thought she told you why, I kept waiting for you to invite me back once my grades were back up but, uh, but that never happened. It’s ok, I get it, I’ll keep getting better. I’ll work harder. And, um, about the… well, I just, uh, I still haven’t told May. About the whole, like, accelerated metabolism thing. She can’t afford it, we already are barely staying afloat, she doesn’t need to worry about me on top of everything else. I’m figuring it out, Flash helps. It’s just kinda, uh, hard to get enough to eat.” Peter blushes, not looking Tony in the eye. He’s so fucking embarrassed. 

Peter feels betrayed. Of course Tony would notice how thin he looked, how  _ weak  _ he looked. His worthless, stupid body is too fragile to even handle this little hiccup. Tony shouldn’t have to worry about Peter fucking eating enough, he’s not a toddler that Tony has to feed or an invalid that Tony needs to provide for. He’s nearly a man, and he’s a fucking vigilante. He can handle a little bit of food issues without Tony looking at him with pitiful eyes like he’s a kicked puppy. 

“Wait a second, is this a money thing? I have a fuck ton of money, Pete, this is great news! Fuck, I thought you had, like, an eating disorder or some shit. This is so much easier to handle,” Tony exclaims, seemingly talking to himself more than he's talking to Peter. 

Peter just blushes harder. “T-Mr. Stark, I lost the internship. I’m not your responsibility anymore, you don’t need to worry about me,” Peter says. He catches himself before using the man’s first name, realizing that they probably aren’t on that level anymore.  _ Were they ever? _

Mr. Stark’s face falls. “Pete, it doesn’t matter if you’re my intern or not, I still care about you. Plus, now that I know that this was a stupid grades thing, you can come back whenever. I’ll talk to May about it, get everything sorted out. We’ll figure this out together, okay? We don’t have to make a decision now, but you’re not gonna keep living like this. It isn’t healthy, and it isn’t safe,” Tony asserts. Peter just nods. He knows that as soon as he leaves, Tony will forget all about this and he’ll be right back where he started. He knows better than to get his hopes up that he won’t have to eat one meal a day and live off of stolen garbage. He won’t kid himself and pretend he deserves any better. 

“Sure, Mr. Stark. Thanks,” Peter mumbles. They sit in silence for a beat before Tony speaks again. 

“Kiddo, you don’t have to work for me to come hang out with me in my workshop. I thought you knew this?” he says, looking earnest. Peter knows this is a lie, he knows Mr. Stark has far better things to do than look after some clumsy, stupid kid. 

Peter nods anyway, ready to just be done with this conversation in any way possible. He just wants to get out of Mr. Stark’s hair and go back to Flash’s apartment and sleep for a week. 

“Pete, I don’t think you get it. You’re one of the most important people in my life, it doesn’t matter that I haven’t seen your dorky face in a while. I still care about you, kid.” 

Peter just shrugs, unsure of what to say. Tony must get the hint that he’s done with this conversation because he changes topics quickly. 

“I’ve gotta ask you a question and I need you to answer me honestly. No bullshit, promise?” Tony asks. Peter nods again, his heart dropping to his stomach as he waits for the question. “What’s the deal with you and Flash? I know he used, well, bully you, but now you seem really close. Is he, um, hurting you, Pete?” Tony looks uncomfortable but determined, his eyes downcast and his shoulders tense almost like he’s the one being accused of expecting a blow. 

“Oh my God, no, no! Flash is, well, he’s great. He’s nice and sweet and he treats me well and he never makes me feel like I’m taking up too much space. He’s kind of, like, the only one I have left,” Peter rambles, getting so caught up in gushing about his boyfriend that he forgets that Tony isn’t his mentor anymore. He obviously won’t give a shit about Flash and Peter’s relationship, he just wanted to avoid the paperwork that comes with abuse cases. At least he’s in the clear on that front. “Uh, sorry, that’s TMI. Forget I said that,” Peter’s mind finally catches up with his mouth. 

“No, Pete, I’m glad you told me. Sounds like a keeper, kiddo. Are you… a thing? Whatever the kids call it these days?” Tony laughs humorlessly at his own age. 

“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend,” Peter says. 

Tony beams, eyes crinkling with glee. “That’s great, Pete, I’m so happy for you. What does May think? What about your friend, Ted?” 

Peter’s smile drops. “Oh, uh, they don’t know. May’s not around much, these days. I haven’t really talked to Ned or MJ in a while, I guess. Not since, like, right after I stopped coming here,” Peter admits sadly. He really misses his friends. 

“Fuck, kid, I’m so sorry. Did they do something? Do I need to make some surprise visits?” Tony has his mama-bear mode on, something Peter has missed desperately since last seeing the man. He misses feeling protected, Tony was always so good at it. 

“No, no, it was all me. It’s fine, I deserved it,” Peter mumbles. 

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that shit. You’re great, kiddo, remember that,” Tony asserts. Peter just nods again, not used to receiving compliments from anyone other than Flash, who he’s still baffled by most of the time. 

“I’ve got Flash, though,” Peter says. He smiles a bit at the idea of the other teen, missing him already. He eyes the door, wishing the other boy would come back and hold his hand. He’s so tired. 

“And me,” Tony says. Peter’s heart thumps. 

“Can I, um, can I actually start coming back to the workshop? I haven’t really talked to May, but my grades are up and I’m getting a hang of patrols and I really miss it here and--” 

“Of course,” Tony cuts him off. “Like I said, you’re always welcome here, Peter. Always. I’ve missed you being here, anyway, DUM-E has been bugging me ever since you left, I think he misses playing catch with you,” Tony laughs. 

“Thank you so much, Mr. Stark. I promise I’ll stay out of your way, you won’t even know I’m here,” Peter exclaims. He’s so grateful that Tony is letting him come back, especially after all this time. He doesn’t deserve the man’s kindness, but he’s too excited to protest and just accepts it. 

“No way, Pete, I want to know that you’re there. Come prepared for me to talk your ear off, Kiddo,” Tony teases, his eyes still sad even as a smile spreads over his face. 

Peter nods again, thinking absently that it’s the only thing he does now. He hates how awkward he feels around someone who used to make him feel so safe and confident. 

“Alright, I’m gonna let that little asshole back in. And I’ll send someone in to clean the room and get you set up on a couple more nutritional IVs.” Tony says. Peter opens his mouth to protest but Tony holds up a hand, “No arguments.” Then, he turns on his heel and saunters out of the room, leaving the door open for Flash to walk though. 

\--- 

Flash spent the past day raking his hands through Peter’s sticky, sweaty curls and wondering where he went wrong. He noticed the signs, he did, but he didn’t realize how serious it was. If Flash really thinks about it, the signs are what initially drew him toward Peter. Ever since the first time he saw Peter flinch at a sudden movement, Flash started to pay attention to the other boy. He never intended to fall for him, he just wanted make sure that Peter wasn't going through the same... stuff... that he used to. Of course, Peter was too sweet and smart and perfect for Flash _not_ to fall for him, and here they are. 

Fuck, Flash wishes they weren't here. 

Peter looks like he’s going to break apart from the inside. He’s thin as a skeleton, his knobbly wrists jutting against his skin and his arms half the side of Flash’s. Lying there in just a medical gown, his baby boy looks so  _ small _ . For too long, Flash attributed Peter’s bulky sweaters and layers with some weird spider-DNA side effect; but now, clutching the huge file Tony gave him on Peter’s “mutation” (Flash hates that word) and its effect on his body, he knows better. 

Peter dozes in and out of consciousness periodically, leaving Flash to spend his day staring at Peter and spiralling down a winding train of through that leads nowhere good. 

Can it really be just a money thing? He knows Peter has always had issues with food, he doesn’t always even finish his servings when he and Flash eat together. Flash never connected his superpowers with his metabolism, though, and now he hates himself for not seeing it. If it was just a money thing, Peter wouldn't be refusing extra servings from Flash. If it was just a money thing, he wouldn't have refused the money that Tony offered him hours ago. 

Peter sometimes eats even less than he does. Before he really _saw_ Peter, Flash just chalked up to him being shorter and smaller since they were kids. What he didn’t realize is that Peter is maybe so used to being empty, so guilty at the thought of having a full stomach, that he couldn’t stand to eat enough. 

Flash wraps his hand around Peter’s wrist, silent tears running down his cheeks as his thumb overlaps nearly halfway past his fingertips. He loosens it for his own sake, instead draping his hand over Peter’s arm gently. He traces his other hand through Peter’s hair, trying to soothe the other boy’s distressed features. It breaks Flash’s heart that, even in sleep, Peter can’t get a break. 

Flash nearly lost it when Tony accused him of hurting Peter. He didn’t even know that Peter was this bad. The other boy never takes off his layers around Flash, but he always explained it away as constantly being cold or a result of his general lack of prior relationship experience. Flash didn’t know that Peter's ribcage was pressing dangerously against his skin, that his elbows looked seconds away from tearing through his translucent skin, that scars marred nearly every inch of his torso and limbs. He thought that the boy’s healing factor would prevent scarring, but apparently that hasn’t even been working the same as before. Tony seemed too shocked by the bruising and scarring for it to have been normal beforehand, which just made Flash want to cry even more. He doesn’t know what to do, how to help his baby get better. 

Guilt invades his mind as Flash thinks back over the past few months. He’s been so caught up in his own shit that he didn’t even realize how much Peter was suffering. Peter’s just so good at hiding it, such a pro at pretending that Flash didn’t even know anything was truly wrong. It seemed like he was doing better, if Flash really thought about it, so this breakdown came completely as a surprise to him. 

Flash’s heart drops when he remembers the day Peter came to school bleeding through his shirt. He remembers finding out about Peter’s identity, feeling relieved that the wound was from protecting the city rather than the abuse that Flash himself had to endure at home. Now, Flash realizes that Peter was hurt so long ago,  _ months  _ ago, and he  _ still  _ wasn’t healing like Tony said he should have. Tony told him that Peter used to heal within minutes, sometimes even seconds, but that it never took longer than an hour or so. Peter’s stomach wound, by that logic, should have been long since healed when Flash saw him over halfway through the school day all those weeks ago. 

If Peter wasn’t healing then, how badly could he be doing now? How can Flash even pretend that he can help if it’s been going on for so long? How can Flash feel anything other than hopeless defeat? 

Peter stirs in his sleep, bringing Flash’s attention back to his face. Peter’s eyelids flutter and almost open, but then he furrows his brows and shoves his head against the pillow as his eyes squeeze shut. Flash’s heart clenches as he moves to interlace his fingers with Peter’s, a tear slipping down his face as Peter squeezes his hand weakly but doesn’t calm down. 

They stay like that for what feels like hours, Flash doing his best to comfort Peter as the smaller boy occasionally stirs and writhes on his pillow. Flash falls asleep with Peter’s hand still tightly grasped in his own. 

\---

“You can’t just lock me up like this! I have school, Mr. Stark, and patrol,” Peter asserts, his voice cracking with emotion. 

He’s fallen too far. He’s crashed and burned, and now he’s screwed. Mr. Stark is going to lock him up, stick him in a padded room with a straightjacket. Bone-crushing anxiety sits firmly in his chest, his ribcage feeling both too big and too fragile at the same time. 

“Kid, you can’t actually expect me to let you leave like this! You’re three steps away from death, at most, and I can’t just stand by and watch you… Pete, you’re not safe enough to leave,” Tony says. Peter’s anxiety morphs into anger. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid, this is exactly why he didn’t want Flash to call Tony. He knew Tony wouldn’t just let it slide, that his incessant need to fix everyone would convince him that Peter’s somehow his problem. 

“I’m fine, I’ve healed. Keeping me here won’t do anything, I can handle this. I’ll come back to the Tower for workshop days, and I’ll be safer on patrol. Please, Mr. Stark,” Peter decides that he isn’t above begging. He can’t allow himself to become a burden to Mr. Stark again. 

Tony seems to disagree, though, and shouts, “you fucking can’t handle this, Peter! That’s the whole damn reason why you’re sitting in this hospital bed!” 

“That’s so unfair, Mr. Stark!” 

“You don’t get to talk to me about fairness, kid. You think it’s fair that I have to stand by and watch you run yourself into the ground? That isn’t fair, Peter, and you know it,” Tony shouts. 

“You’re not my fucking dad!” Peter yells back, surprising himself and Tony in one sentence. 

Tony hesitates, his face shifting to a mask of indifference and thinly veiled hurt. “No, Peter, I’m not. I’m not your dad, but you’re my kid. I promised to look out for you, to care for you, to protect you. I’m the adult, and you’re the kid. Which means you listen to me, no matter how much you wish you didn’t have to. I’m not your legal guardian, so I can’t technically keep you here, but I can damn sure do just about everything else it takes to keep my eye on you. I’m not letting you out of my sight again, kiddo, and there’s nothing you can do about that.” 

“You just said you can’t keep me here, so what do you even plan to do? You can’t control me like this,” Peter says. He tries to sound confident, but he knows better than to think that Tony’s only method of controlling him is through making him stay in the Tower. 

“I’m taking the suit,” Tony says flatly. 

_Fuck_. “No, please, Mr. Stark. I-I’m sorry, I’ll listen to you, please don’t take the suit. I have people to save, I have a responsibility, I need it,” Peter rambles, finally giving into the anxiety he’s been fighting. He knows that Tony has finally seen how weak he is, how worthless he is, but he didn’t think Tony would punish civilians for it. Sure, Peter can’t help everyone, he couldn’t even save one measly kid, but he’s better than  _ nothing _ . Isn’t he?

“Kid, you’re dying. When are you going to get that through your head? I found you one heartbeat away from being dead in an alleyway. Your boyfriend had to hold you as you bled out in his arms. I’m not letting you do that shit again, I couldn’t care less about responsibility or heroism. Peter, I care about you, that’s why I’m doing this,” Tony says. Tears have pooled in his eyes, and Peter’s heart clenches at the sight of his mentor so close to breaking down. Tony has never cried in front of Peter, even when he had a panic attack in front of him all those months ago. 

Peter refuses to think about Tony’s words. Yeah, it’s shitty and scarring and weird that Flash had to cradle him while he bled out, but it’s nobody’s fault but his own. Sure, it’s problematic that he doesn’t ever really eat enough and he hasn’t spoken to his only remaining family member in months, but whose fault is that? His. None of this is on Tony, none of this should be Tony’s responsibility. Yet, watching the tears stream down his mentor’s face, Peter stays quiet. He lets Tony ramble about family and love and meaningless platitudes, zones out while Tony lists the reasons why he should take a break from patrol. He hears bits and pieces, something about checking in regularly and building a plan. It sounds like a cop-out to him, but the tone of Tony’s voice sounds serious. He only focuses back in when the door finally opens, allowing Flash to re-enter before Tony strides out. Flash is carrying a backpack, likely with his blood-ruined clothes and a change of clothes for Peter, and Peter breathes a sigh of relief knowing he gets to go home. If Tony's going to control him, at least he's going to do it from a distance. At least Peter still has Flash. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ENTER TONY!!!!! Tony is one of my absolute FAVORITE characters and I love him with my entire heart. I swear he'll be coming up SO much more often now, and there's a legitimate reason why he allowed Peter to leave the Tower. I promise he isn't a terrible person, he's just a flawed human being who has his own issues (especially daddy issues... yeah, we'll see some of that later too). 
> 
> Thoughts on Flash? Thoughts on Peter? Our boys sure are going through it. 
> 
> Like always, please please let me know what you think!! Also, if you have anything you want to be included in the story, please comment below! I love to hear your theories :)


	26. Enter Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a little POV switch! As you all know, I don't do this very often, but Tony deserves some screen time. Let's take a look into his head!

As soon as he left Peter’s room in the medbay, Tony locked himself in his workshop. Seeing this kid,  _ his kid _ , in such a state threw the man into a state of panic that he hadn’t felt in years. What really got him, though, was how Peter looked at him. That same guarded, insecure, secretive look that Tony used on his own father. After Peter was first settled into the hospital bed in the medbay, Tony fled to his workshop to fight off the panic attack that had been itching in the back of his mind since Flash first called. 

When his phone first rang and Peter’s name showed up on the screen, Tony was overjoyed. He hasn’t seen the kid in so long, it almost felt like it had been years. That joy quickly faded, though, when he picked up the phone to hear a frantic teenager’s voice and his kid sobbing in the background. He’s never suited up so quickly, already calling his armor before Flash managed to get more than a sentence out. Since then, he hasn’t been able to take a breath without feeling like his chest was going to cave in. 

Now that Peter is gone, Tony doesn’t know what to do with himself. He barely knows why he let Peter go in the first place, blaming a mix of control issues and guilt. Tony knows that he isn’t Peter’s dad, a fact that he despises more and more with every passing hour. He can’t control Peter, nor does he really want to, but he feels so helpless. He’s paralyzed by fear--fear of Peter dying, fear of failing his kid, fear of becoming his father. Tony can’t become the same cold, judgemental asshole as his father, judging his kid based on his grades and accomplishments and how hard he works until he runs himself into the ground. Tony knows he had to let the kid go, that it was the only way he would ever come back on his own. It hurt worse than anything he’s ever done, but he assuages his guilt by remembering the thorough list of advice that he gave Flash and the crumpled, torn, fucking blood-stained Spidersuit sitting under his work bench. Tony knows that he’s done all that he can tonight, all he can do before Peter realizes that there even is a problem for Tony to help him fix. So, Tony does what he does best--what his father taught him. He works. 

Taking a shaky breath and rising from the couch in the corner of his workshop where he’d been since Peter’s departure, he brushes off DUM-E’s attempts at comfort and sits at one of the desks scattered throughout the room. With a wordless command to FRIDAY, dozens of screens pop up around his slumped figure. Surrounded by the comforting blue light of his tech, Tony gets to work. 

Tony makes a total of 4 lists that night. He’ll admit that he has a bit of a list obsession, always having written things down whether or not they were actually important. This extended from to-do lists to alphabetized lists of tools he needed. These lists, though, are far more important. 

First, Tony began by writing down every shelter in New York City, along with their location, regular patrons, and general budget. He made a note by each shelter about whether to double or triple the budget, based on the demographic and location of the shelter. Then, he wrote down areas in which there were no shelters or food banks, budgeting triple the amount that the preexisting shelters had. 

Next, Tony pulled up a list of every public school in New York, along with a separate list of private schools. He allotted a certain amount of money to each public school, denoting whether or not it would be for a school-provided free breakfast or a free breakfast and lunch option if the school did not already have the ability to provide all students with lunch. On his list of private schools, he budgeted out donations that he could make with the specific intent to go toward food benefits. He knows that he couldn’t actually dictate where the money went in private institutions but he felt too guilty at even the thought of leaving those students out of his new mission. 

Then, Tony began to research the best therapists, psychologists, and psychiatrists in the area. He called Banner and Dr. Cho for advice, waking both of them up without a care as it was now well into the early hours of the morning. They were both happy to help, once the sleep was dispelled from their tired minds, and gave Tony a thorough background on each of their recommendations. They both gave him a myriad of names, ranging from normal professionals to those trained specifically in mutation-based trauma. He knew that the kid might not be ready for any sort of help yet, but he’d be damned if he was unprepared for when the time finally came that he would be able to help Peter. 

At nearly six the next morning, Tony made his final list. This one is less productive and he knows it, but he can’t help himself. His perfectionistic tendencies, combined with the hero-complex that he knows he has, drives him to delineate each and every time that he has failed Peter. The list starts small, mostly consisting of every time since Peter has stopped coming to the Tower that he has wanted to text the kid and decided against it. He should’ve known Peter would never willingly stop coming, much less stop answering the few texts he did send. Then, the list grew. It went from every time Peter has been wounded in battle, to every time Peter has even had to go to battle, to Peter becoming Spider-Man in the first place. Tony should’ve stayed away; he should never have found Peter, much less convinced him to fight by his side against Captain fucking America. Peter was  _ fifteen _ , for fuck’s sake, and Tony was asking him to fight a group of fully-grown, enhanced adults. He failed Peter from day one, and there’s no other way around it. 

One thing Tony knows, though, is that he’s the most stubborn motherfucker alive. He will **never** fail Peter again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The daddy issues are strong in this one...  
> As usual, please let me know what you think! I'd love to know your thoughts on Tony and his role in all of this. Don't worry, he'll be a pretty major component of the rest of the story!  
> Thank you all SO much for your continued support, I absolutely adore reading your comments :)
> 
> VOTE IN THE COMMENTS: which would you prefer? (feel free to pick multiple!)  
> -more MJ time  
> -some MJ some Ned?  
> -another Flash POV  
> -redemption for May  
> -May gets worse/meaner


	27. Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for voting on the last chapter!! It was an overwhelming win for more MJ and Tony, some support for Ned entering. The one thing that y'all seemed pretty split on was May's character development, about 10/5 for May getting meaner. I'm decently split in my own mind on this issue, so I'm still pretty unsure on where I'll be taking her. For now, though, she won't be in the story much anyway.
> 
> On another note, MAJOR TW FOR THIS CHAPTER!! Proceed with caution, Peter's hit his breaking point. This chapter is basically just self-harm, so PLEASE skip if this is too much for you and consult the after-chapter notes for a summary.

Peter’s going to die. Air rushes  _ outoutout  _ of his lungs as he pants, rushing on shaky legs toward the door to Flash’s bathroom. The two boys got back from the medbay of the Tower late the past night, Tony finally letting Peter leave after the boy was completely healed with the demand that Peter come back that week and  _ take care of himself, for fuck’s sake _ . 

Peter knows that it must now be early in the morning, judging by how dark it still is outside, but his brain doesn’t have enough energy to think any further. He focuses on getting somewhere isolated and quiet, desperate to hide his oncoming panic attack from Flash.  Peter knocks into the wall as he turns the corner to get to the bathroom, wheezing out a curse as his elbow stings with the contact. Still, the pain brings him out of his head and helps him make it to the bathroom. He tries his best to lock the door, but his shaky hands refuse to grasp the tiny lock and it starts to rattle loudly. The sound hurts Peter's ears, ringing metallically and making his head throb. Peter gives up on trying to lock it, realizing that the sound will draw Flash to him far before he could wake up and find Peter behind an unlocked door. He won’t come looking for a while, Peter knows, if he even comes at all. It’s too early, and he probably doesn’t actually care enough to go searching if he does wake up. 

_ He doesn’t care at all. He’s just bored, he’s just humoring you until he can find someone better. Now that he knows who you are,  _ **_what_ ** _ you are, he’ll be gone before you leave this room. He’ll kick you out, just like Tony did. Or worse, he’ll die, just like Ben, and mom, and dad. Just like the kid you couldn’t fucking save.  _ Peter knows that he’s going to lose Flash, one way or another. He just has to protect Flash before he gets too hurt, even if it means killing himself in the process. 

Peter huffs out a breathy laugh at the thought. Peter’s lungs burn with the exhale, trembling as he tries and fails to inhale again. A sharp sob surprises Peter, jolting him out of his fog of anxiety and back into the tumultuous cycle of panic. His newly-healed wounds burn, taunting him with their dull pain even as Peter yearns for more. He finds himself leaning against the sink, grabbing at the knobs of the faucet clumsily and turning on the water to drown out the tortured sounds escaping his trembling lips. His twitching hands nudge the cold water to life, allowing Peter to lean down and splash his face. Peter gasps at the temperature, his mind clearing just a bit but not enough. It’ll never be enough. Peter sobs again as he switches off the cold water, only for his hand to move without his permission to crank the hot water all the way up. Peter plunges his face under the stream of water, hissing at the heat and choking a bit as the water slides up his nose and down his throat. Peter instinctually yanks his head out of the way when the water gets too hot, but he forces his hands under the water in replacement. 

Peter’s shaking hands twitch violently under the scalding water. They turn a muddled pink as steam escapes the faucet, his fingertips prickling with pain. Peter turns his head to bite down on his shoulder, stifling a scream into his tortured skin. He finally pulls his hands out from under the water when the pain becomes too great, absently nudging the water off as he sinks to the floor. Tears stream down Peter’s face as he breathes heavily, cradling his stinging hands to his chest. 

The pain starts to fade all-too-quickly. Peter has barely gotten his breathing under control by the time his hands are back to their normal too-pale shading, his mind not yet fully quiet. Peter curses his super-healing, wishing he had scabs or burns or  _ something  _ to pick at. He hates Tony for the IVs he stuck into Peter the day before, hates him for messing with Peter's tried and true coping mechanisms. Guilt immediately floods his system at the thought, his mind making him sick to his stomach with its disgusting, selfish thoughts. Accusations of blame spin through his thoughts, Flash’s voice invading his mind to whisper insults as Tony’s voice shouts a list of Peter’s missteps. Peter’s own voice joins the mix, though he doesn’t realize that he is actually speaking until his throat becomes dry and scratchy. The other voices start to fade and Peter hears himself whispering, “My fault, my fault. I’m a freak, a mutant. My fault,” on repeat. 

Peter bites his chapped bottom lip, trying to block out the words that keep flowing unbidden from his lips. It doesn’t work, and the tang of metal coats his tongue as he tears through his lip. Yet again, the pain feels like a relief. 

Peter wants more of that relief. 

Running on autopilot, Peter yanks his shirt over his head. His eyes search frantically for a cut, a gash, a bullet wound, anything to shove his fingers into and  _ rip _ . They fall upon a shallow cut on his lower stomach, the little wound surrounded by a deep, blackened bruise. It barely classifies as a cut, more accurately the remnants of one of the wounds that healed while in the medbay. Peter doesn’t care, though--all he sees is something to tear apart. 

Peter smiles in relief as his fingers find their way under his skin, the warm, wet heat of his flesh tearing beneath his fingers. His mind clears fully for the first time since he woke up, the voices fading into the background. 

Peter barely gets a moment of relief, though, before he hears the door creak open. 

“Pete? Holy fuck, Peter, oh my God, what the fuck?!” Flash’s voice shifts from quiet concern to straight-up fear, raising a whole couple octaves as he rushes to Peter’s side. 

_ Fuck _ . “Fuck,” Peter says aloud. 

“Baby, shit, what the fuck happened? Are you okay? Did something not heal right? I’ll call Stark, okay, I’ll fix it, baby,” Flash rambles, reaching for a nearby towel to start soaking up the growing puddle of blood that has accumulated on the floor next to Peter. 

Peter weakly tries to shove Flash away. He’s gonna ruin the fucking towel. _What is he, stupid? You can’t bleach a gray towel, it’ll ruin the towel, he’s gonna ruin Flash’s towel._

“Hey, hey, what’re you doing? Let me clean you up, Peter, it’ll be okay. Just let me help you, darling, yeah?” Flash asks, confused as to why Peter won’t let him help. 

“No, no, Flash. Your towel. Gonna stain your towel,” Peter grits out, finally removing his hand from the wound to grab at Flash’s arm weakly. 

“Fuck my towel, Peter, what the _fuck_?” Flash shouts. Peter flinches back, shoving his back against the cold wall on instinct. “Shit, baby, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to yell. I just, I don’t give a shit if my towel is ruined when you’re bleeding out on my fucking floor,” Flash says more gently. Peter is too weak to argue as Flash gets back to mopping up the blood, instead focusing back on his wound. 

Peter’s head is too cloudy to rationalize how it looks when he digs his pointer finger back into the healing wound. Flash freezes. “P-Peter? What’re you doing?” Flash whispers. Peter looks up, his eyes glassy and absent. The voices are still quiet, he’s gotta keep them quiet. 

“It helps,” Peter says simply, his eyes falling back down to the bloody opening. Firm hands suddenly wrap around Peter’s frail wrist, yanking his hand away none-too-gently. Peter looks up at Flash again, brows furrowed in frustration and even a bit of anger. Before Peter can say anything, Flash pulls him forward and wraps him in a tight hug. Peter tries to pull away, mumbling something about staining Flash’s shirt, but Flash just clings tighter. 

“Let’s clean you up, ok, baby?” Flash whispers after a minute. Peter nods, confused, but lets Flash fuck up yet another one of his towels to wipe down Peter’s stomach and hands. Peter refuses to look down, doesn’t want to see Flash’s strong, muscular hands in contrast with his fragile, weak, concave stomach. 

A bit of blood clings under his nails and Peter picks at it mindlessly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY I really need to quit it with these cliffhangers...
> 
> Summary if you skipped: Peter has a breakdown caused by guilt over being a "burden" and not being able to save the kid. He hurts himself pretty badly and Flash ends up finding him in the bathroom. Flash tries to help and clean him up before realizing that Peter did this to himself. 
> 
> As always, please let me know what you thought of the chapter!! Your comments all make my day :)


	28. The Weight of It All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE TW FOR GRAPHIC ABUSE 
> 
> This is probably going to be the saddest chapter I'll write for a good minute, it's pretty intense and marks a big shift in the boys' dynamic. Please read if you can, or comment if you need a summary.

“Darling, finish your plate,” Flash gently encourages Peter. Peter wants to puke at the misguided hope in Flash’s voice. He’s full, he really is, and he _hates_ it. Telling Flash, especially telling him about his accelerated metabolism, is the worst idea Peter had--now, Flash makes sure that Peter eats even more than he does. 

Peter’s barely used to regular portions, and the excessive amounts of food that Flash has been shoving at him crowd his stomach and push on his insides and make him feel so  _ heavy _ . The concave slope of his stomach has started to flatten out and it makes Peter feel like an utter failure. He’s taking up more and more space, can feel his limbs growing heavy, the air around him displaced and buzzing angrily on his skin. 

“I’m done, Flash,” Peter huffs, nudging the food on his second serving around. It’s not even his first plate, Flash never lets him eat just one plate anymore. He’s already being so selfish, why can’t Flash see it? Why can’t he see how excessive this is, how little Peter deserves this? 

“Peter, you’re not done. You need to take care of yourself, baby, you’re so tiny. I ignored this for too long, okay? Please,” Flash asks vehemently, a frustrated blush coloring his cheeks. 

Peter wants to please Flash, but on the other hand, he physically can’t. He can’t finish this plate, he can’t keep pretending that he needs it. 

“Darling, we have enough, more than enough. Why won’t you eat?” Peter knows that Flash is just trying to understand, trying to figure out why he can’t solve the problem, but Peter feels like such a fuck up. 

“I'm so- I'm so  _ soft _ ." Peter spits the word like it's the worst possible thing to be, because it _is_ , and he hates it. 

What Peter doesn’t know is that, if Flash could describe Peter in one word, it would be 'soft.' He doesn’t know that it’s one of the reasons Flash loves him. He loves Peter's soft brown eyes and his soft lips. He loves how Peter's voice is soft, how it’s barely above a whisper when they’re alone. Flash loves that his breathing is soft, and his touches are soft. Peter is all soft oversized hoodies, and soft curly hair, and soft, secret glances across classrooms. Flash loves that when his arms are wrapped around Peter and his palm rests above Peter's heart, even the beat is soft. Flash loves that Peter is soft, and if his body is soft too he'll love that just as much.

"Good," Flash says, "I like soft. And I like you. Whether you're soft or not.” 

Peter shakes his head a bit, disbelieving, his hair falling forward to hide his eyes. “That’s not the same thing, though,” he whispers. Flash just doesn’t get it, he’ll never get it. “I can’t be soft. I’m supposed to be a hero, a vigilante, I can’t be soft or weak or slow. You get that, right?” 

Flash stands there, for a moment, speechless. Peter thinks that he’s really gotten through to him, this time, that maybe he’ll finally understand why Peter is… like this. But, as always, Peter is wrong. 

“Peter, you’re starving yourself,” Flash whispers. 

Peter huffs out a laugh, derisive and angry, “Fuck off.” 

“Darling, I’m serious. You’re tiny, you’re skin and bones, you’re always cold. I’ve ignored it for too long, I played it off as your spider DNA or your super-senses but that’s not it. You get dizzy when you stand, baby, and I can see you wince every time we go up the steps at school. You can’t keep doing this,” Flash says, choking up. 

Peter feels his heart beating frantically in his chest, thumping against his sternum so hard it hurts. He’s panicking, switching between guilt and anger. He isn’t starving himself, he’s just being less selfish. He’s fine, it’s all okay, he’s being careful. 

“Stop being so fucking melodramatic, Flash. I’m not dying, you’ve fucking seen me half-naked in that goddamn hospital bed, you know I’m not skin and bones. If you’re pissed at me for lying about Spider-Man, I get it, I fucked up. But stop trying to mind-fuck me here,” Peter can feel himself becoming venomous, monstrous, uncontrolled. He’s so scared, so fucking terrified of Flash finding out just how far this… thing has gone. Maybe it is a thing, maybe he can admit that to himself, but he sure as fuck can’t admit it to Flash. He’s already spilled so much about his other coping mechanisms, he can’t lose this one, too. He’s got it under control, he just has to keep being careful. 

“Baby, you--you’re, fuck, what you’re eating isn’t enough. When we left the medbay, Tony gave me a rundown of what you need, you’re not even coming close. Your body is wasting away, and I, I just--I can’t watch you fade away, Peter, please,” Flash croaks. 

He talked to Tony about this? 

“Get out,” Peter deadpans. 

“W-what?” Flash asks, confused. 

“Get the fuck out, Flash!” Peter yells, his body caving in on itself as he tries to fit his whole, aching body into the corner of the couch. 

Flash looks so hurt, so confused, but Peter can’t help it. Flash went behind his back, spoke with his fucking mentor, his father-figure, the only person he thought was safe from his bullshit. When Peter looks up from where his head is tucked into his hands, Flash is gone. 

\---

“Get the fuck out, Flash!” Peter is screaming, his cries echoing in Flash’s ears. 

His boyfriend’s frail body curls in on itself on Flash’s bed, all elbows and knees and sharp edges. His skin is so fragile that the bones have started to press through, bruises and blood leaking out. 

Flash watches helplessly as Peter seems to deflate, his skin tightening and growing more and more gray. “Leave me the fuck alone, Flash!” Peter yells. It’s so loud that he can hear Peter’s vocal chords rip. 

“Darling, please,” Flash sobs, rushing forward to hold Peter in his arms. Peter scrambles backward on the bed, terrified. Flash can hear his bones grinding together, so loudly and so painfully that he can nearly feel it. 

“This is your fault! Get out, Flash! I hate you!” Peter screams again.

It’s so loud that Flash has to bend down and cover his ears with his hands. When he looks up again, Peter is sprawled lifelessly on his bed. A huge, gaping wound decorates his concave stomach; there’s a bullet shell next to his leg. The comforter is covered in his blood, but even that is dull and graying. 

“Peter!” Flash exclaims, running toward the bed. Peter’s eyes stare, empty and dead, up at the ceiling. 

“You did this,” a voice sounds behind him. Flash turns around to see his mother, bruised and broken in a light purple dress. The same dress she died in. 

“Mom,” Flash sobs, collapsing to the floor in front of her. 

“Don’t call me that, Eugene. Have you remembered nothing?” her voice is strict and emotionless, just like it always was. Just like she taught his to be. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Flash says quietly, trying to hide the tremor in his voice as he feels the tears dry on his cheeks. His body is no longer his own, he can feel himself slowly turning back into the emotionless robot his parents crafted so carefully. 

“That will do. How weak you’ve become, Eugene. You’re not even enough of a man to save this boy, nowhere near enough. Your father will be so disappointed,” his mom says none-too-gently. 

Flash’s heart stops at the mention of his father. “Please, mo-Rose, please don’t tell him. I promise I’ll do better, please, just,” Flash starts to ramble, kicking himself for the sobs that break through his sentences. 

“Enough grovelling, Eugene. Stand up, your father already knows. Go prepare yourself, you know how he hates to wait.” His mother's words are so final, so concrete, that Flash has no choice but to obey. He never had any other choice. 

Flash stands up on shaking legs, walking toward the bed where Peter lies lifelessly. He resists the urge to run a hand over Peter’s arm, just like how he used to, and instead removes his belt and his shirt. He stopped wearing a belt after his parents died, or at least he thought he did, but he feels grateful that he has one on now. It means he doesn’t have to leave Peter to seek another one out. 

He neatly folds his shirt and places it on the bed, trying not to watch as Peter’s blood soaks through it upon impact. Flash then places the belt on the table near his bedroom door, watching his mother turn and leave the room. Then, he stands stiffly beside the bed. 

Heavy footsteps announce his father’s arrival, causing Flash to tense up as always. He used to think he would get used to it, after some time, but that has yet to happen. 

“Kneel, boy,” his father’s voice commands. Flash drops like a pin, his knees colliding with the carpet below. His back is to his father, as always, and Flash barely has time to breathe before the first hit lands. 

Flash makes it five hits in before he starts to cry. Seven hits before he starts to sob. Nearly twelve before he screams. 

“Shut up. You deserve this, boy, and you know it. Make it to fifteen without another noise, or sit through ten more. The choice is yours,” his father grunt the ultimatum. 

“Yes, sir,” Flash breathes. He knows better than not to respond, as while his father values silence, he values respect even more. 

Flash makes it to fifteen, barely. As soon as the blows stop, Flash falls forward, curling into a tight ball on the floor. 

“Stop whimpering. I swear, you couldn’t act like a man if you tried. You’re such a fucking disappointment, Eugene.” 

Flash sobs at that, knowing that he won’t get extra lashes this late. What he didn’t anticipate, though, is that his father doesn’t leave; instead, he starts to kick Flash. His shoe digs into Flash’s torso, legs, even knocks him in the head once before Flash is able to curl his arms around it. The pain is so much, so deep, that Flash knows he’ll never escape it. 

He realizes he has no choice, so he just gives in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm.... Don't kill me? You said you wanted more Flash... 
> 
> I'm planning to take a bit of a turn after this chapter, leading into a recovery-esque plotline (though there will DEFINITELY be more angst and conflict, knowing me). I'm taking a lot of things into account regarding your comments a couple of chapters back, so hopefully, I'll be able to include a majority of what y'all want! As always, comment below what you'd like to see next!


	29. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter update for y'all! Enjoy!

“Flash! Flash, wake up!” Peter is yelling, screaming, trying to get through to Flash. The other boy has been screaming wordlessly for minutes now, stock straight on the couch where he fell asleep and gripping his head. No matter how hard Peter tries, he can’t pry Flash’s arms from around his head. It’s almost like he’s protecting himself from some invisible force, trying his best to keep himself safe. 

“Flash! Please, Flash, please wake up,” Peter is sobbing, tears salty and hot against his cheeks. He’s terrified, Flash has never had a nightmare like this before. Usually, he’s lucid within minutes, talking things calmly with Peter after they breathe together. Now, though, he’s frantic. 

Peter doesn’t know how long it takes for Flash to calm down. What he does know is that he’s had a panic attack, had time to calm himself down, and has almost cycled into another when he finally hears Flash’s screams subside into quiet sobs. 

“Flash?” Peter whispers, too scared to get any closer to the other boy. There’s nearly a foot of empty cushion lying between them and Peter is shivering in his long-sleeved shirt from the lack of Flash’s body heat, but making Flash scared is far worse than any other suffering he could experience. 

Flash’s head jerks up at the sound, his bloodshot eyes immediately locking on Peter. They grow wide, realization crossing his features before he throws himself at Peter. 

“Peter, fuck, oh my God. You’re okay, you’re alive. You’re alive,” Flash rambles, cradling Peter tightly against him. Peter squirms, trying to keep as much of his weight off of Flash as possible while still allowing Flash to cling to him. 

“Hey, yeah, I’m okay. I’m alright, we’re okay,” Peter repeats. Flash takes a deep breath, his lungs rattling and chest quaking against Peter’s. Peter finally gives in and sinks against Flash, feeling the other teen melt against him at the weight. He wraps his arms around Flash, like always, but Flash doesn’t react the same way he usually does. 

Instead of squeezing Peter tighter and leaning into Peter’s hands against his back, Flash jerks back so violently that it nearly propels Peter off of the couch. 

Peter’s heart clenches; Flash has finally had enough of him. He’s disgusted by Peter, he doesn’t want Peter touching him. He’s only allowed him to so far because he needed comfort, not because he actually wants Peter’s hands on him. 

Still, Peter can’t just let Flash suffer alone. “Flash, I’m sorry. I won’t touch you again, okay? Just come sit back down, breathe with me. We don’t have to touch, I promise,” Peter tries to keep his voice even, to hide the hurt curling in his chest like the stale smoke that sits heavily on the rooftops of New York skyscrapers. Instead, he breathes deeply and loudly, watching Flash like a hawk to make sure the rise and fall of his chest matches Peter’s. He curls his hands around one another, both in an attempt to keep himself from reaching out and touching Flash and so he can subtly tear at his cuticles. 

“N-not you, Peter. It’s not, not you. Just don’t wanna. Not right there, just don’t wanna touch my back,” Flash stumbles over his words, his voice nearly an octave higher with fear. Peter agrees, not for his own sake, but because he’s never seen Flash this scared.

“Is there anywhere I can touch?” Peter asks hesitantly. He doesn’t want to overstep, but it hurts so badly watching the love of his life fall apart as he can only sit idly by. 

“J-just not the back. Anywhere but my back,” Flash says, his voice getting a bit stronger now. Peter sighs with relief, immediately reaching out to grasp Flash’s hands. Flash accepts readily, intertwining their fingers and squeezing. “Thank you,” he breathes. 

Peter clings to Flash as best he can, using their hands as a tether. He feels moments away from losing Flash. His heart still aches with guilt over yelling at Flash earlier that day, and he’s been wallowing in Flash’s room ever since. For a while, he thought that Flash would follow after him, but he never did. When Peter went to find him before bed, Flash was already sound asleep on the couch, so Peter spent the past few hours staring lifelessly at the ceiling, hoping against hope that Flash would wake up and crawl into bed beside him. Flash’s terrified screams still echo in his ears, the sound propelling Peter from Flash’s bed and directly to the living room. Peter never wants to hear Flash that scared again. 

“Flash, w-what happened?” Peter mumbles. He’s scared to find out the answer, but he has to be brave. He needs to be strong for Flash, it’s the least he can do. 

“Just a nightmare,” Flash murmurs. 

“Bullshit, Flash. We both get nightmares all the time, and you never react like this. If I don’t get to lie to you, you don’t get to lie to me. Tell me what happened, Flash, please,” Peter tries to soften his tone, but he’s never been great at comforting people. Flash makes him so fiercely protective, so feral with love, that he can’t help but want to get to the bottom of things quickly so he can just fix the problem. That’s his job, his responsibility. 

“Ok, yeah, just. Just give me a second,” Flash whispers. Peter nods, not wanting to push Flash any more than he already has. Flash squeezes Peter’s hands in his, fiddling with Peter’s painted fingers as he begins to speak. “I didn’t even mean to fall asleep out here. I spent hours on this fucking couch, trying to work up the nerve to come see you. I was so scared, Peter. I’m still so scared. I was terrified that I’d open that door and find you lying dead on my bed. Then I fell asleep, and that’s exactly what I saw,” Flash chokes out. His hands are shaking in Peter’s, both boys clinging to one another desperately. 

“Flash, I-” Peter starts, but Flash cuts him off. 

“No, Peter. You don’t get to say that that’s irrational, or crazy, or not going to happen. At this rate, one day, I’m going to come home and you’re going to be gone. You’re already fading away, baby, you’re already fucking slipping through my grasp. When I was asleep, I didn’t see some horrific nightmare that I’ll never have to encounter. I saw you, bony and bleeding out just like you were the other day. The only difference was that you blamed me,” Flash hisses. He sounds like he’s on the edge of fury, torn between terror and anger. 

“I could never blame you, Flash,” Peter says vehemently. He wants to drill it into Flash’s head, wants to tattoo it on his forehead that it’s not his fault. No matter what happens to Peter, it’s nobody’s fault but his own. 

“But I do, Peter. I blame myself, and someday, you might blame me, too.” 

Flash lets the statement sit heavy in the air for a minute. Peter doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t think he could ever blame Flash for anything that he’s gone through, and he can’t imagine how Flash could even think something like that. 

Peter and Flash sit in silence for long, stretching seconds. In the back of his mind, Peter knows that Flash is hiding something from him. He knows that there has to be more to Flash’s nightmare, especially why he still hasn’t let Peter come near his back. Still, Peter doesn’t push. He knows that Flash hates opening up, that he wants to seem as stable and emotionless and brave as possible. It hurts Peter’s heart to know that Flash doesn’t trust him enough to open up anymore, but he can’t exactly blame him. 

“Peter, how long?” Flash whispers. 

“What--” Peter starts, only to be cut off once again. 

“How fucking long, Peter? How long can you last like this? How long can we go, pretending like this isn’t fucking killing you? That it isn’t killing me, right alongside you?” Flash exclaims. His voice has finally started to shake, emotion leaking into it. 

“D-do you need a break from me?” Peter asks. He’s terrified of the answer, of the inevitable yes that will slip from Flash’s perfect lips. He has to ask, though; Flash deserves this chance. He deserves to leave Peter quietly. 

Peter feels one of Flash’s hands release his and he has to choke back a sob. What he doesn’t expect, though, is for that hand to come up and cradle Peter’s chin. Flash’s big, warm hand envelopes Peter’s jaw, gentle and soft. 

“Baby, I’m not leaving. I’m never leaving, I won’t go anywhere,” Flash assures Peter. He lets his hand fall again, draping it over where Peter is still gripping his other hand. 

Peter smiles softly, hoping Flash can’t see the guilt in his eyes. He knows that Flash won’t stick around forever, but he’s so desperately relieved that he can’t bring himself to fight it. At least, this way, Peter will have a little while longer. 

“W-will you stay with me, please? I know you’re probably still mad at me, from today, but I just. I can’t go to sleep without you next to me,” Flash mumbles, looking obstinately at their intertwined hands. 

“Of course, Flash. I… I can’t say I wasn’t mad at you, ‘cause that would be a lie, and we agreed to no lying. I was really, _really_ mad at you. But," Peter takes a breath, letting his lungs expand and his mind slow, "I’m not anymore. Now, all I really want is for you to come back to bed with me. It felt so empty without you, and I was really cold,” Peter confesses. He stutters his way through it, the words tumbling from his mouth almost without his permission as he desperately tries to bring Flash back to him. 

Flash doesn’t say anything, but Peter guesses he doesn’t really have to. He just stands silently, reaching down toward Peter. While Peter assumed that he was reaching out to hold Peter’s hands and help him to his feet, Flash bats away Peter’s outstretched arms and stoops to wrap himself around Peter. He straightens back up, taking Peter with him and making him cling to the taller boy like a koala so he doesn’t fall. 

Flash has never even attempted to carry Peter before. Peter’s heart stops when he realizes that Flash is supporting his entire body weight, squirming in his arms as he tries to get down. Flash refuses, gripping him tighter and hitching his legs around Flash’s waist. It isn’t forceful, but his movements don’t leave Peter with any choice but to let Flash carry him. 

“Flash, I--” Peter tries to say. 

“If you say you’re too heavy I’m going to carry you bridal style, darling. You’re lighter than my backpack, so just shut up and let me hold you,” Flash snaps, his tone harsh compared to his gentle touches and words. Peter sighs, accepting defeat and hoping that this isn’t the last night he’ll feel Flash’s arms around him. 

\---

Peter barely notices when Flash makes it to his bed, lulled into relaxation by the steady sway of Flash walking through the small apartment. Flash sits them both on the bed, wrapping his arms around Peter even tighter to prevent him from squirming out of his lap. When Peter stills, Flash finally loosens his grip. He lets his arms hang loosely around Peter’s frame, resting his chin on Peter’s bony shoulder. The material of Peter’s fluffy sweatshirt tickles his nose as he breathes, soft like feathers against his skin. 

“Flash?” Peter asks after a while. Flash startles a bit, likely believing that Peter was asleep. “I-I’m not as cold with you here,” he mumbles, nerves stirring in his stomach as he mulls over what he’s implying. 

“Good, baby,” Flash whispers, tucking his head even closer against Peter’s neck. 

“I, uh, I think I wanna take off my sweatshirt,” Peter stutters. He feels Flash freeze against him and bites his lip, forcibly keeping himself from taking back his statement. 

“Darling, are you sure? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, I know it’s been a hard day for you,” Flash finally says. Peter’s heart swells at how kind and understanding Flash is, even after a day of fighting with Peter and a night of battling nightmares. The fact that he’s even asking just proves to Peter that he’s making the right choice, though, and he nods. 

“Yeah, I think I’m ready,” Peter whispers. He leans back, gently unraveling Flash’s arms from around him and letting his hands rest on Flash’s forearms. Flash is looking up at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world, and it makes Peter’s heart ache. Flash is never going to look at him this way again. 

“Peter,” Flash says softly, bringing Peter’s attention out of his own head and to the boy sitting in front of him. “You’re beautiful.” 

Peter bites his lip and looks down at his hands, fingers twitching steadily against Flash’s arms. The heat of Flash’s gaze burns his skin even through the sweatshirt, making the urge to take it off grow even stronger. 

“I just-” Peter frowns, trying to find the words, “I just need you to not say anything, I think. Please.” 

“Of course, darling. I just want you to be comfortable,” Flash says immediately. 

Peter shakes his head slightly, “I don’t know if I’m ever going to be comfortable. But, uh, I think I want this bad enough to be uncomfortable?” His voice turns up at the end of his sentence, insecurity coloring his tone as he tries to convince Flash that he’s ready. 

Flash seems to understand, like he always does, and whispers a soft “okay” into the air between them. Peter can feel Flash watching him as he finally starts to move, his arms shaking as he grabs the hem of the sweatshirt. 

\---

Flash stares in awe at his boyfriend, perched softly on his lap in a pair of Flash’s loose pajama pants and a fluffy sweatshirt. He watches as Peter’s arms move to pull at the hem, grasping the sweatshirt and pulling it over his head in one quick movement, as if he’s trying to surprise himself into it. He’s got a t-shirt underneath, but it’s far too big and does nothing to hide how thin Flash knew his arms are. 

He’s seen Peter’s arms, when he was lying in the hospital bed. He’s wrapped his hands around them, seen how small and fragile they were against the bright white hospital sheets. Now, though, in their own little bed, in their own little apartment, it seems so much worse. His wrists aren’t just dainty, they’re _tiny_. His arms aren’t just small, they’re frail. Through the thin t-shirt, Flash can see the hard angles of Peter’s shoulders and collarbones pressing harshly out of his body. He’s almost glad that Peter has yet to look up, because then he would see the utter devastation that Flash knows is showing on his face. When Peter was in that hospital bed, on the brink of death, it seemed explainable for him to look so small and broken. Now, with a couple of days and a handful of meals under their belt, Flash can’t connect those too-small limbs to his healing Peter. 

Every bone is on display, and each one is mocking Flash. All this time, he thought that a couple of meals and his endless support would be enough. He thought that _he_ could be enough, but now he knows better. 

“Oh, baby,” Flash whispers, nearly choking on the words. Peter lets out something like a whimper at the sound, curling his tiny arms around his tiny body and pulling his fucking _tiny_ self up from Flash’s lap before Flash can stop him. 

Flash feels like he’s going to cry. He can feel the familiar lump in his throat, strangling him and leaving him the type of breathless that he never thought he would be again. He’s scared and he’s lost and he feels so fucking hopeless, because if this is what Peter is like now, after Flash knows and Tony knows and he has people in his corner again, then what the fuck else can Flash do? 

The thing that terrifies him the most is what Peter had said to him the day before. That he’s soft again, how full he felt. Flash can see it as Peter stands shivering in front of him, his stick-thin arms trying to hide the softness of his tummy that he somehow thinks he has. 

“Fuck, Peter, come here,” Flash mumbles, doing his best to choke down the sob building in his throat. 

Peter finally, _finally_ looks up and his eyes meet Flash’s, just as glassy and uncertain as Flash knows his are. Flash holds out his arms, letting Peter step into them once more. He clings to Peter, wrapping his arms all-too-easily around the other boy’s torso, feeling the harsh lines of his sternum against Flash’s cheek. He can feel Peter’s ribs moving as he breathes, each one shuddering with the effort of it.

“You still-” Peter pauses, taking a breath. “You still want me?” His voice sounds so uncertain that Flash wants to scream. 

“Always, baby,” Flash says fiercely, “more and more every day.” 

Peter’s eyebrows press together, his nose scrunching up adorably as his mind is undoubtedly running a mile a minute. He looks like he’s fighting the urge to argue, but he seems to make up his mind. Peter’s eyes close softly as he leans forward and brushes his lips softly against Flash’s. Flash doesn’t stop kissing Peter as he pulls the shorter boy back onto his lap, swallowing his complaints against his lips and effectively distracting him. 

Flash pulls back after a while, breathless and content. The sun is rising through his window, but he pulls Peter up against the headboard with him. They curl under the covers, propped up side-by-side on a mountain of pillows. 

Peter’s hair has flopped forward into his eyes and Flash’s hand moves on its own, sweeping it back before resting gently on the back of Peter’s neck. Something stirs in Flash’s chest, a familiar warmth that blooms every time he looks at Peter. All of the sudden, he can name it. 

“I love you, Peter,” Flash says softly, abruptly. He startles both Peter and himself, his heart skipping a beat as Peter’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open a bit. 

“Flash-” Peter starts, but Flash refuses to let him go any further. 

“You never have to say anything back, if you don’t feel it, too. I don’t want to pressure you, or anything,” Flash says quickly, looking earnestly into Peter’s eyes. He can nearly feel Peter’s anxiety, his hesitation regarding the words. He knows that Peter barely has any family left, at this point, and he belatedly wonders when the last time was that Peter heard those words. 

Peter’s voice is so small when he speaks again, shaking and anxious. “You, you love me? Like really, actually love me?” Peter asks.

“Yeah, darling, I really do. I love you,” Flash assures him, repeating the words just to say them.  _ He loves Peter _ . 

Peter nods seriously, sitting up and scooting impossibly closer to Flash. His bony knee digs into Flash’s hip bone where his leg is bent, but Flash doesn’t mind. He wishes they could be even closer, wishes he and Peter could fuse together somehow. 

“I love you, too,” Peter says. Then, as if he’s been reading Flash’s mind, he slowly settles himself against Flash. One of his bony legs swings over to rest on the other side of Flash’s body, and Peter is straddling him, leaning forward to tuck his head into the slope of Flash’s shoulder. He snuggles even closer, chest to chest, like he’s trying to press every inch of his skin to Flash’s. 

Flash smiles hugely, wrapping his arms back around his boyfriend and settling deeper into the mound of pillows at his back. He rubs a hand gently down Peter’s back, trying to ignore the bumps of Peter’s vertebrae pressing against his skin under the thin t-shirt. 

“Love you,” Flash says again, his heart soaring just as it did the first time he said it. “Love you so much.” 

“Love you, Flash,” Peter says against his neck, and Flash can feel the brush of Peter’s chapped lips against his neck. 

One of Flash’s hands settles in Peter’s hair, twining the curls around his fingers and scratching his nails against Peter’s scalp gently. He barely notices Peter’s hands settling against his back, tucked between the pillows and Flash’s body, his cold fingers warming within seconds. 

_ Peter loves him, too _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!!!


	30. Irondad to the Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised... TONY!! Enjoy :)

Flash and Peter wait three more days before returning to school. Peter wishes they could wait forever, but his attendance is reaching an all-time low and Flash is starting to get jittery. Peter tries not to take it personally, tries to remember that it’s Flash’s fear of failure making him so anxious, not Peter himself. 

They spend the first day and a half in bed, recovering from the night before, alternating between sleeping and whispering “I love you”s into each other’s skin. Sometimes, Peter thinks it’s the only thing Flash knows how to say to him. 

Peter stumbles his way through meals, grateful that Flash is so distracted with keeping him comfortable and warm in bed that he brings them small snacks to eat in bed rather than full meals. He knows it isn’t going to last, but he tries not to think of the  _ after _ . Whether that’s after Flash, or just after that day, he doesn’t care.

On the second and third days, they make it out of bed. Flash still refuses to let Peter out of his sight, barely even lets him stray out of reach. They eat side-by side on the couch, legs pressed together. It takes Peter nearly three times as long to finish his breakfast, and Flash’s eyes are on him the entire time. He tries to hide it by glancing toward the TV whenever Peter looks up from his plate, but he doesn’t take Peter’s super-senses into account. His stare burns hot on Peter’s skin, the opposite of the icy itch that most other people’s causes; still, it’s just as uncomfortable. It makes him twitch and fidget, his hands shaking violently as he tries to maintain his grasp on both his breakfast plate and reality. Peter reminds himself that Flash is only trying to help, that he isn’t judging Peter, but the little voice in the back of his mind asserts that Flash is watching the food sink into his stomach and settle. It tells him that Flash is watching him soften, watching him grow weaker and weaker with every meal. It tells him that Flash is contemplating when he can leave Peter. 

Still, Peter pushes through. He doesn’t know what’s driving him to eat, whether it’s a desperate attempt to get Flash to stay or just an attempt to keep the other teen off his back. He doesn’t want Flash to call someone--Tony, maybe even May. So Peter keeps it up. He eats, and he follows Flash’s soft commands, and he tries not to get crushed under the weight of it all. 

“I love you,” Flash says. 

“I’m proud of you,” Flash whispers after every cleared plate. 

“Thank you,” Flash mumbles when he lets Flash wrap his arms around Peter’s waist, settle his hands over the girth of Peter’s arms or the gentle slope of his stomach. 

“I’m so sorry,” Peter whispers from the cold bathroom in the dead of night, his twitching fingers scratching feverish red paths across his stomach. 

“I can’t do this,” Peter breathes into the empty air surrounding him on all sides. 

“I need help,” Peter types with shaking hands on his phone, pressing send before he can think any further. 

“I’ve got you, kiddo,” Tony responds. 

\---

“Tony?” Peter whispers into the phone, cringing at the sound of his scratchy voice in the quiet, dark bathroom. His eyes and ears have adjusted to the emptiness, making any noise nearly intolerable. 

“Hey, Pete,” Tony whispers from the other side of the phone. Peter sighs in relief at the man’s gentle tone, thanking his lucky stars that Tony can somehow always tell when Peter is overstimulated, even from miles away. “You alright, kiddo?” 

Peter hesitates, trying to quantify his emotions before he tells too much. “I’m okay, just overwhelmed,” he finally responds. 

“Talk to me about it?” Tony asks softly, sounding far away from the phone. A couple of seconds later, Peter hears the clang of tools and a soft thump; he smiles slightly, realizing that Tony has probably flopped on the couch in his workshop. The familiarity of his mentor’s setting makes him feel warm and content, almost like he’s right there with him. Peter leans back against the bathtub behind him and tries to reconcile the cold porcelain with the warmth in his chest. 

“I, uh, I go back to school, tomorrow,” Peter starts, unsure of what to say. He wishes he could just vent, that he could talk to someone about everything but not have them try to fucking  _ fix  _ him all the time. He loves Flash, and he wants to let himself love Tony, and they’re both fixers. They both want him to be better, want him to be perfect, and he doesn’t want to let them down. 

“Are you ready for that, kiddo?” Tony asks after a beat. 

“Not at all,” Peter says before he can stop himself. He hears Tony chuckle softly over the line at his bluntness and he can’t help but frown. “It just, it feels so pointless.” 

“Pointless?” Tony asks, in a tone that makes Peter regret his choice in words. 

“Not pointless, I guess, just… mundane. I almost literally died a few days ago, and now I’m just expected to go back to school like nothing happened,” Peter explains. 

Tony sighs, the sound sharp and tinny through the phone. “Yeah, I get that, kiddo. You’ve got, what, a little over a year left?” 

Peter shocks himself when he realizes that he hasn’t thought about how much time he has left of high school. For so long, it felt like he had an eternity left. Then, it felt like he wouldn’t make it long enough to graduate. 

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Peter responds, sounding even to himself like he’s thousands of miles away. 

“Still wanna go to MIT?” Tony asks, sounding hopeful. 

“You know it, old man,” Peter teases mindlessly. A surprised laugh bursts out of Tony on the other side of the line, making Peter’s stomach swoop with joy. 

At that, the conversation grows lighter. Tony tells him tales of his time at MIT, anything from hot water fights using hoses and Bunsen burners to horror stories about entitled professors. Peter feels a tiny bit of hope spark under his skin at the thought of going to college. He fantasizes about his life there, working Flash into the equation without even realizing it. He dreams of living in another, shitty little apartment with him, of commuting to their respective schools; Peter to MIT, Flash to Harvard. Peter asks Tony about the best places to live and gets information on a myriad of apartment complexes that Tony straight-up offers to buy without a second thought. 

When that conversation fizzles out, Tony starts to badger him about Flash. Peter spends hours on the phone with Tony that night. He knows that he has to be up at 6:30 the next morning, knows that Flash is just a room away, yet he stays. He tells Tony about the past few days, skirting around his issues with food to talk to him about Flash. Tony seems enamored with Flash already, his wariness of the other teen seeming to wear off immediately as Peter gushes about him. Peter can’t help but smile as he recounts Flash telling him that he loves him, and he can hear Tony’s smile even through the phone. 

Flash stumbles into the bathroom around 6 that morning, looking tired and frazzled. He jumps at the sight of Peter curled up on the bathroom floor, eyes wide and terrified as he searches the floor for blood. He sinks to his knees at Peter’s side, whispering softly to the other boy as he checks him over for injuries. When he finally decides that Peter is ok, Peter gestures at the phone in his hand, mouthing “Tony” and smiling. 

Flash waves awkwardly at Peter, or more likely at Tony, and Peter relays his greeting through the phone. Flash blushes when he hears Tony yell, “hi, Eugene!” through the phone, running out of the bathroom before either one of them can poke fun at him. 

When Peter finally says goodbye, Tony says, “Love you, kiddo,” and hangs up before Peter can even think to respond. Peter rides to school in the passenger seat of Flash’s car with a small smile on his face and Flash’s hand in his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please let me know what you think of the chapter! 
> 
> Also, please comment if there's anything else you want to see in the upcoming storyline! I'm fleshing out some later chapters and I'd love to hear what y'all would like me to include!


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick little update for y'all! I have some longer chapters coming up, so stay tuned!

“What the  _ fuck _ , Peter?” MJ’s voice hits him like a brick wall. “We were supposed to meet last week, where the fuck were you? You couldn’t even spare me a fucking text?” she asks, her voice a mix of incredulous and hurt. 

Fuck, Peter completely forgot. In his defense, he did almost literally die like three times last week. A meeting with an ex-friend wasn’t exactly his top priority; still, he couldn’t exactly tell her that. 

“Seriously, you’re not even going to answer me now? I didn’t have to reach out to you, you know, I don’t owe you shit. What the hell, Peter?” MJ continues to yell, coming to stand closer and closer to Peter. His senses are going haywire, now, her voice blaring like alarm bells and the air displaced by her flapping hands stings like electricity against his neck and face. MJ looks like she’s about to speak again, but Peter interrupts, his voice finally returning to him. 

“Then why did you fucking text me?” Peter shouts, overcome with anger and pain. 

MJ stops short, speechless. “Why did you say yes if you were just going to bail on me like you always do?” she says hollowly. 

“Like I always do? Real rich, MJ. Sure, I didn’t always show up to AcaDec, but I never bailed on  _ you _ . I wasn’t the one who quit responding to texts. I wasn’t the one who stopped sitting at the lunch table. MJ, you didn’t even text me on my birthday,” Peter says vehemently, his anger overriding his anxiety for a moment. His hands shake violently in his pockets and he clenches them together tightly, reveling in the bite of his nails against his palms. It isn’t much but, combined with the anger coursing through his blood, it’s enough to keep him grounded. At least, for now. 

“Don’t act like you’re so fucking perfect, Peter. You can’t say that you never bailed on me, you aren’t a saint. Stop fucking thinking you’re better than everyone just because you started blowing off school.” MJ’s jabs cut deep, stealing Peter’s breath. 

_ How dare she? She doesn’t know anything about his life, she has no idea why he started “blowing off” school. She has no clue that he nearly died the other night, or a thousand other times _ . 

“Fuck, you really don’t know anything! Did you just text me to yell at me? What the fuck is the point of all of this, MJ?” The energy drains from Peter’s body, leaving him shivering and cold. His chest feels moments from caving in on itself and he wants nothing more than to hold Flash’s hand. 

“Maybe if you showed the hell up the first time, you’d know why I texted you! Where the hell have you been, Peter?” MJ asks again, desperate. 

“Right fucking here, MJ! I’ve been right here, right in front of you, all year. But wait, that’s not what you’re fucking talking about. You want to know where I was last week? The fucking  _ hospital _ , MJ,” Peter spits. He instantly regrets it, watching MJ’s expression shift from fierce anger to devastating pity. Peter  _ hates  _ pity. 

“Oh my God, Peter,” MJ whispers. “What the fuck? You were in the hospital and you just let me yell at you like that? Why didn’t you just say so?” 

Peter laughs derisively. “Why didn’t I just say so? Wow, good question. Maybe because I don’t owe you an explanation for my fucking whereabouts. You’re not my friend, anymore.” 

“Whose fault is that, though, Peter?” MJ lashes out. 

Peter just huffs out another emotionless laugh. “Does it even matter?”

He waits, for a minute, to see if she’ll respond. If she’ll say anything, if she’ll fight for him. She doesn’t. Peter turns around, walks to Flash’s car, and tries not to look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you feel about MJ and Peter? Do you think they're being reasonable, or that they're both being unreasonable? Let me know in the comments! 
> 
> Also, I pinky promise to stop misgendering MJ soon!! This is all from Peter's POV and he doesn't know yet, don't hate him for it!!


	32. Through the Fog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your feedback on Peter and MJ! More to come with them in the future!
> 
> For now, enjoy!

Peter scratches at his palms the entire ride home. Flash keeps shooting him worried glances, even reaches out to lay a hand on top of Peter’s to try to get him to stop. Peter just bats it away, shifting to look out the window as he scrapes his overgrown nails across his shaking palms. Flash’s music plays softly through the speakers and the body spray he used to wear sits heavy in the air. Peter breathes deeply, using it as a tether, trying not to think back to the days when Flash was just some pretentious asshole. 

Talking to MJ sent him into some sort of spiral, he can already tell. Peter’s mind buzzes with half-forgotten memories and he feels like he just swallowed a dozen stones. The weight makes him want to scream. 

Peter doesn’t remember getting upstairs. He doesn’t remember getting out of the car, going up the stairs, walking through the doors. One second, he’s in the passenger seat of Flash’s car, not even five minutes away from school; the next, he’s on their couch. Flash is nowhere to be found, either miles away or just out of eyesight, so Peter curls face-down into a ball and wraps his arms around himself in a mockery of a hug. 

“Darling?” Peter hears distantly, as if he’s underwater rather than on a fucking couch. He doesn’t move, can’t really work up the motivation to. 

Peter feels Flash’s hand on his shoulder, suddenly, but it feels like he’s being touched over a dozen layers of clothes. The sensation is distant, dulled, so drastically different from how hyperaware Peter usually is. It’s kind of nice, yet insanely terrifying. 

“Peter, you with me?” Flash asks again, his voice sounding no less distant despite the fact that he’s moved several feet closer. Peter forces himself to hum in agreement, doing his best not to disappoint Flash. The sensation makes his skin buzz, the feeling dulled only when Peter digs his fingers deeper into his stomach, twisting and pulling at the skin under his clothes. He feels old scars beneath his hands, raised and numb compared to the rest of his skin. He hates how soft the flesh there is, now, and this hatred only makes him grab at it harder. Peter wishes he could tear it right off of himself. 

“Hey, baby, let’s sit up,” Flash says gently, helping Peter flip over from where he was lying facedown on the couch. Peter hides his arms behind his back covertly, hoping that Flash didn’t see where they were wrapped around him. When Peter has turned enough that Flash can see his face, Flash reaches over and tugs Peter up, letting Peter lean against him. 

Peter feels dizzy and displaced at the movement, his head swimming and his vision narrowing as he stares ahead into blank space. It kind of feels like someone’s switched off his brain. 

Flash strokes his hair gently, twisting and pulling on a curl every once in a while. The light scrape of his nails against Peter’s head feels so nice, so Peter leans into it, letting the light pressure bring him closer and closer to the surface. His chest feels like someone’s strapped rocks to it, dragging him down into the fog even as he fights to reach Flash on the other side. 

Flash starts to hum under his breath, after a bit, and the vibrations bring Peter even closer to the surface. The sound of Flash’s voice makes his chest feel a bit lighter, and Peter wishes he could bottle up the sound. He’s not exactly an amazing singer, but neither is Peter, and Flash sounds like home. His voice is slightly scratchy, deeper than his speaking voice, and it sounds like molten honey as he hums one of his stupid indie rock songs. 

Peter sits up on his own, at some point, and his head finally clears enough for him to think straight. Embarrassment colors his cheeks a bright red, his heart speeding up drastically as he shakes off the fog. 

“S-sorry,” Peter stutters, realizing how utterly useless he’s been for the past… however long it’s even been. He can’t quite tell, if he’s honest. 

“No need, baby. You feeling better?” Flash asks gently, not a hint of judgment in his tone. Peter wants to curl up in his arms and never let him go. 

“Yeah, I think so. MJ, uh, she really got to me, I guess,” Peter mumbles, trying to expel the cottony feeling from his mouth. 

Flash nods as if he already knew the answer, which Peter supposes he did. Being around each other so much has made them so in tune with one another’s emotions and triggers, which has proven to be both a good and a bad thing. “Wanna talk about it?” he asks. 

Peter shakes his head, hoping that Flash will let it go. Flash aims a concerned and mildly dubious look his way, his eyebrows quirking up adorably as he looks down on his boyfriend. He lets it sit, though, probably planning when he’s going to confront Peter about it later. Peter’s just glad that they aren’t going to discuss it right then. 

“C’mon, let’s go change into some PJs. I hate doing homework in jeans,” Flash says, completely changing the subject. Peter smiles slightly, standing on shaky legs and letting Flash lead them to his bedroom. 

Flash strips out of his jeans and hoodie gracefully, donning a pair of sweatpants and a new t-shirt. Without a word, he hands Peter the soft t-shirt he’s been wearing under his sweatshirt all day, a silent hint to put it on. Peter has already changed out of his jeans at that point, wearing a mismatched outfit of a pair of Flash’s flannel pajama pants and the shirts he wore to school. Peter takes the shirt without hesitation, holding it in his hands for a moment. 

Peter absolutely adores it when Flash gives him the shirt that he’s worn all day. He loves the way Flash’s shirts are always so loose on him, how they fall down to his thighs even though Flash isn’t very much taller than he is. He loves how the fabric is still warm when he pulls it on. Mostly, though, he loves the way they smell so much like Flash, not just his pretentious cologne, but like  _ him _ . 

Peter takes off his shirts, one at a time, with trembling hands. He resists the urge to turn around while he strips, trying to reassure himself that Flash won’t judge him. He almost has the new shirt on, when Flash stops him. 

“Peter? What’re those?” Flash asks, his voice quivering in concern. Peter isn’t sure what he’s referring to, at first, until he follows Flash’s gaze down to his stomach. 

Peter’s stomach clenches as he looks down at himself, dread and shame filling his chest as he sees the damage he did this afternoon and the night before. He sometimes forgets that his coping mechanisms have visible consequences, as he does his best not to look at himself anyway. 

“It’s just a bad habit, Flash,” Peter whimpers. “I was fine, really, it’s just a bad habit.”

  
  
“I’m such a fucking idiot,” Flash mumbles, backing away. “I’m so fucking stupid!” he exclaims, hands coming up to grasp his hair.

“Don’t say that, Flash,” Peter protests. 

“I look at you, every single day, and you look like you’re fucking drowning! And I keep thinking I’m getting through to you, I keep thinking I can save you, but I can’t even fucking get close to you!” 

“Flash--” Peter whispers, trying to calm the other teen down. 

“Don’t, Peter! Stop fucking lying to me! I am literally begging you, please, stop,” Flash sobs, sinking to the floor against the wall opposite Peter. “Please, stop lying to me. I can’t do this if you’re going to act fine when you’re clearly not.” 

Peter forces himself not to cry, choking down his tears like the meals he’s been force-fed. “If I--If I tell you what I’m really feeling, you’ll. You’re just going to leave me, either way,” Peter says. 

Flash’s eyes are pleading when he looks up at Peter, “I’ve told you a million times, I’m not going anywhere. I just, _fuck_ , I can’t keep doing this if you’re going to lie to me, and hide shit from me. We promised, Peter. I can handle it when you feel like shit, I can handle it when you’re pissed off, but I can’t handle it when you shut me out.” 

The hairs on Peter’s arms stand up, his body trying to force his mind into a state of fight-or-flight. His instant reflex is to get his shit, to yell in Flash’s face that he should just go then, that they were never meant to work out anyway. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t push Flash away, he doesn’t yell, he doesn’t do anything. 

“Okay,” Peter sighs. 

Flash groans, low and pained, “see! You don’t even give a shit! You don’t care if I tell you that we won’t work out if you lie, because you don’t even care if we work out!” Flash is full-on sobbing now, his sentences punctuated by pained hiccups and sharp intakes of breath. Peter feels like he’s being punched in the gut with each sound, but he refuses to leave. 

“No,” Peter says quietly, “I’m saying okay to, to what you said before.” 

Flash’s face twists in confusion, tears dripping down his face. “What things?” 

“I’m saying okay, I’ll stop hiding things. I’ll stop lying, I’ll tell you when I feel like shit. I’ll tell you when I’m dying to tear the skin from my bones, when I want to rip the fat from my stomach or my arms, when I feel like everything is fucking falling apart and it’s my fault,” Peter ignores Flash’s flinch at his words, knowing that he can’t keep censoring himself if they agree to this. This is what Flash asked for, after all. 

Flash sits there, open-mouthed for a minute, looking for the words as disbelief clouds his features. Finally, he says, “yeah, you say that now. But soon enough, you’ll find other ways to hide from me.” 

Peter sighs, rubbing a hand roughly up and down his arm. He knows that it’s his fault that Flash doesn’t trust him anymore. He knows that he’s the one who’s been lying, even though they said no lies. 

Peter knows that Flash is going to leave, one day. He knows that Flash will leave him either way, so he refuses to make it because he wasn’t trying hard enough. He knows that Flash is going to get upset, and overwhelmed, and fucking freaked out. Still, he’d rather that than to always wonder what would have happened, had he just given Flash the chance to prove otherwise. 

Looking down at Flash, crying at his feet, Peter makes the decision that he’d rather say ‘I told you so’ when Flash leaves because he’s too much to handle, than ‘what if’ when Flash leaves because he isn’t trying hard enough. 

“I mean it, Flash. I’ll--I’m going to be open with you. But, when it.. When it gets to be t-too much to handle… please, just be honest with me, too. D-don’t draw it out. I’ll, I’ll understand when you w-want to go.” 

Flash’s eyes softened as Peter spoke, but Peter can still see the sadness trapped inside. He can still see the pain that he caused. Peter sinks down to his knees, ignoring the pain that shoots through them as the bones scrape together, and lets Flash pull him into his lap. Peter doesn’t know how long they sat there, tears falling from both of their eyes. He does remember Flash’s words, though. 

“I’m not going anywhere, darling. I love you with everything I’ve got.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the clusterfuck of miscommunication in the last chapter, my heart couldn't take any more of it. Can y'all tell that I hate Miscommunication As A Plot Device?? 
> 
> Anyway, please let me know what you think of the chapter!! Your comments make my entire life, I'm not kidding.


	33. Fresh Ink and Fresh Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed updates, I've been so busy with classes and social stuff that I've barely had time to think. I should be posting another update very soon!! Enjoy :)

Peter is sitting in chemistry the next day when his phone buzzes from its position in his pocket. He barely gets texts anymore, and they’re usually from Flash, so the sensation catches him off guard. Flash notices him jump and subtly presses his knee against Peter’s under their shared lab desk, grounding the other teen before he can even process that he needed it. He can feel Flash’s eyes on him as he checks his phone under the table--a warm, comforting weight that contrasts the sharp, itchy, icy cold stare that MJ has continued to throw his way. 

**Tony: Hi kiddo, come to the tower today at 4 after school :)**

The text catches Peter off guard. After his hours-long phone call with Tony two nights before, he shouldn’t really be surprised, but he is. He barely believed Tony when he said that Peter could come back to the workshop, so seeing physical proof that he could return made his throat clog with emotion. On top of that, he really didn’t expect Tony to actually invite him over. Sure, Tony extended an open invitation, but giving Peter a day and time to come over is a whole other step. It takes the choice away from Peter, making him accept or decline rather than just letting Peter procrastinate until the invitation fizzles out. He can’t decide if he’s grateful or angry. 

After anxiously typing out three separate responses, Flash finally nudges him and whispers “hit send.” 

**Peter: ok thank you should i bring anything with me**

It’s only after he hits send that he remembers that today is one of the only days of the month that May has off. She’ll be expecting him in the apartment, if he’s not back after school she’ll know that something is off. She knows that Peter isn’t in any extracurriculars anymore, now that he’s been kicked out of AcaDec and she took away his internship. On her days off in the past, Peter has just gone straight to his room, locking the door tight and pretending not to hear her grumbling angrily down the hall. One time, he tried to go help her and she yelled at him for nearly half an hour straight for not taking the trash out. Now, he lets her have the apartment to herself, making notes in his little lined notebook of the chores he has to have done by the time she comes home the night before. He also keeps track of her days off in the notebook,too, the section marked off with a little blue Post-It note since that’s her favorite color. 

Peter doesn’t even realize that his hands are shaking violently until Flash gives him another gentle nudge and Peter glances up to see a look of concern on his face. 

Peter takes a sheet of loose leaf from his binder and a pink highlighter, writing “ _ ok. just may stress _ ” before sliding it to Flash. Flash nods, stealing one of Peter’s orange highlighters to respond. “ _ She being difficult? Stay at mine tonight? _ ” Flash writes. Peter shakes his head, writing “ _ she hasn’t said anything just know she’s home tonight. Tony invited me to workshop and i gotta explain to her where i went _ .” Flash thinks for a second, twirling his highlighter around his fingers like a baton. Peter stares a bit more intensely than he thinks he should, blushing. “ _ Do you have to tell her? Will she notice? _ ” Peter knows that Flash’s question isn’t meant to hurt his feelings, but his chest aches at the thought that he’s so distant from his only remaining relative that she wouldn’t even notice if he were gone. Peter shrugs, leaving it at that, and Flash draws a series of little hearts at the bottom of the page in an attempt to cheer Peter up. It sort of works. 

Tony responded during his and Flash’s little correspondence, and Peter takes the chance to read the message while Flash decorates his notes in little doodles. 

**Tony: Nope, just you and your big brain**

Peter feels his lips twitch into a ghost of a smile, his heart thumping at Tony’s compliment. He hasn’t felt smart in a long time, but it makes him happy to think that he still has Tony convinced despite everything. 

\---

“Hey, kiddo!”

Peter’s head shoots to his side so quickly it nearly causes a crick in his neck, trying to locate the source of the sound. He’s barely waited two minutes behind the school and Tony’s black Mustang is already pulling up in front of him. Peter blushes furiously and throws himself into the backseat, hoping that nobody saw him. 

“How was school?” Tony asks, leaning back from his position in the driver’s seat to talk to Peter. 

Peter shrugs before realizing that Tony can’t see him, blushing awkwardly as he mumbles, “ok.” 

“Just ok?” Tony asks, taking Peter’s awkwardness in stride. 

“Yeah, nothing too interesting,” Peter says. There’s a beat of awkward silence, then Peter asks, “How was your day?” 

Tony launches into a story about the new line of StarkPhones he’s releasing soon, talking so quickly and animatedly that he nearly forgets he’s driving. He keeps turning around to look at Peter, who’s nervously playing with the straps of his backpack in the backseat, and Peter makes a mental note to sit in the passenger seat next time for both of their sakes. 

\---

Walking through the halls of the Tower, Peter feels like he’s falling through time. The familiar sights of bustling interns, frantic transportation of inventions, and bored-looking legal consultants makes Peter feel immediately at home, and Peter wonders if this is why Tony took him through the public entrance rather than his private route to the workshop. 

“Peter! Is that you?” a voice sounds from his left, making Peter jump slightly. He turns to see Sara, one of the interns he used to run into when he… when he still worked here. She’s smiling hugely at him, bouncing across the room in that excitable way she always did. 

“Hey,” Peter says awkwardly as she approaches them, waving a hand and feeling himself blush all the way to his chest. 

“Hey yourself, stud,” Sara teases. She loved to playfully flirt with him, and he used to be able to flirt back. Now, his mind is blank, overridden by anxiety and deja vu. “Where have you been?” 

“Oh, uh,” Peter tries to come up with an excuse, coming up short. Thankfully, Tony comes to his rescue, as he always does. 

“This little genius has been studying his ass off, just like you should be, kid,” Tony jokes, throwing an arm around Peter’s shoulders. Sara doesn’t see how gently he makes sure to rest it on Peter’s bony shoulders, nor the soft little squeeze Tony gives Peter’s arm. The pressure makes Peter relax a bit, grounding him, and he finally finds solid footing. 

“You’ll have to come by the labs soon, Kid Genius, we’ve missed you. There are like twelve impossible problems that we need your brain for,” Sara responds, taking it all in stride. 

It always shocks Peter how little attention the interns give Tony. He’s  _ Tony freaking Stark _ , yet these college students couldn’t give less of a shit. Instead, they treat him like their weird genius uncle, and Peter knows that Tony secretly loves it. 

“If the old man ever lets me out of his sight, I’ll be there,” Peter jokes, trying to impersonate his former self a bit. It seems to work, because Sara laughs loudly and shoots him a peace sign before turning on her heel and sauntering away. 

“See ya later, Kid Genius!” she shouts over her shoulder. 

Tony turns to him, removing his arm from Peter’s shoulder and starting to walk toward the elevators. “When did you become such a lady killer?” he asks, smiling hugely. 

“Shut up, it’s not my fault college kids love me,” Peter mumbles, blushing again. He’s perpetually embarrassed in this part of the building, and as much as he misses the interns, he desperately wishes they were down in the safety and solitude of the workshop. 

“If you aren't careful, I’m gonna have to tell Eugene,” Tony says, and Peter’s eyes go wide. 

“Wait, I-” 

“Relax, kiddo, I’m just messing with you. I know you’re the prey down there, my interns are ruthless,” Tony chuckles. Peter relaxes a bit, and they spend the rest of the elevator ride in comfortable silence.

\---

The elevator doors open and Peter takes a deep breath on instinct, inhaling the smell of engine oil and metal. He has to hold himself back from sprinting into the wide, open space and launching himself onto one of the benches. Instead, Peter takes slow, measured steps, breathing in and out to the rhythm and keeping himself a half-step behind Tony. 

Peter stands, lost, in the middle of the room as Tony goes to sit at one of the tables, immediately diving into one of his many half-done projects. He waits there for a minute until Tony shoots him a confused glance. 

“You gonna join me, or what, kiddo?” Tony asks incredulously. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Peter stutters, shuffling toward the table. 

“Relax, Pete, it’s all good. Now, help me fix this… whatchamacallit,” Tony commands. 

Peter giggles at Tony’s nickname for the device he’s holding, grabbing it with shaky hands to take a look. It’s harder, now, to fiddle with the little screws and delicate machinery, but Peter does so well enough to understand what they’re working with. Tony has always been an invent first, name later type of guy, so Peter just plows forward without asking any more questions. He settles into the rhythmic flow of tinkering, allowing himself to get lost in the work.

Blueprints cover the tables and hover in the air around them, both hand-drawn on paper and in hologram form. Peter tries to mark up one of the papers, nearly snapping his pencil in frustration as his hand shakes too badly for him to write small enough or draw a straight enough line. He holds back tears as he pulls up a hologram instead, trying to ignore the worried glances that Tony keeps aiming his way. Peter thinks back to his days in the workshop last year, when he could write something with one hand and tighten tiny screws with the other. Now, he has to focus all of his attention on one task, willing his hands to cooperate and do as he instructs. 

A few hours in, Peter finally falls into a rhythm. Tony has long since moved on to a different project, sprawled on his back about seven feet away with light blue holograms surrounding him on all sides. Heavy metal blares over the speakers, creating a din so chaotic that it circles back around to comforting. Peter’s hands are still shaking, but he’s managed to enlarge the design he’s working on enough that he can mark it up without too much of an issue. The actual product, which is much smaller, lies a foot to his left where he can purposefully ignore it. Actually building his design will be a problem for Future Peter, he thinks derisively, and he tries to ignore how much the thought makes him want to rip himself to shreds. 

“Pete!” Tony yells suddenly from across the room. Peter jumps in his seat, knocking his right knee on the underside of the table and cursing under his breath. “Fuck, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Tony half-shouts. 

“All good,” Peter grits out, rubbing his knee under the table. 

“Run down and grab me Project 64-C-19 and 71-A-12 from the 31st floor, the college nerds just finished marking them up,” Tony demands offhandedly, as if he isn’t asking Peter to do intern work like it’s nothing. 

“W-what?” Peter asks dumbly, confused. Tony just invited him to come work with him, not to come work  _ for  _ him again. Right? 

“64-C-19 and 71-A-12, Pete, floor 31,” Tony lists off again, and now Peter is even more confused. 

“I, uh, I don’t have clearance, anymore,” Peter says quietly, hating to bring it up but knowing that he won’t be able to complete Tony’s request. 

Tony sits up, his head poking through one of the holograms laughably. He waves a hand to dispel it, raising an eyebrow at Peter. “Kid, you never lost clearance. I was just waiting for you to get back, you’re still an intern if you want to be,” Tony says. 

Peter’s heart stops. “Wait, really?” he exclaims, too caught off-guard to hide his excitement. 

“Yeah, dork, now go get my damn markups,” Tony laughs, flopping back down on the floor. 

Peter’s heart races as he stumbles up from his work bench, scattering blueprints around him in his excitement. The whole elevator ride down, Peter can barely catch his breath. 

Peter watches distantly as his shaky hand opens the door to the lab, his anxiety skyrocketing as he prepares himself to see everyone again. He misses the noise, the chaotic din of a dozen sleep-deprived genius kids yelling about math and science and robotics. 

“Kid Genius!” Sara yells, alerting everyone to his presence immediately. Peter curls in on himself, a bit, trying to shield himself from the eyes that have suddenly magnetized to his skin. Instead of feeling examined, though, Peter feels welcomed. 

“Hey, there he is!” “Where have you been?” "Peter!" “Welcome back!” 

A chorus of excited voices surrounds him, blanketing him like a warm hug as the small herd of 18- to 20-year-olds greet him. Most of them don’t even walk away from their projects, which is comforting to Peter--there’s nothing more predictable than nerds with their eyes only on their work. It helps him feel less exposed, too, as their eyes barely stray from their desks after they've identified who entered the room. 

Peter offers them a smile and a wave, and they take it for what it is, probably too sleep-deprived or focused to question his newfound policy for silence. With much more confidence than he had to open the door and enter the room, Peter walks forward and stops at the pile of completed markups that constantly shrouds the one long table in the back of the room. The Final Boss, as the interns call it, is piled high with blueprints and plans, from R&D to HR to aerospace. Peter shuffles through them slowly, relishing in the nostalgia of coming down to the labs every day after school and getting his hands on all of the new projects that he’d missed out on while in class. He used to spend hours down here with the interns, looking over their work and occasionally helping them solve “unsolvable” problems (they were usually pretty straightforward, but Peter loved to feel helpful as their pair of fresh eyes). 

Nearly an hour later, after solving two calculations and helping Lucas find his glasses (they were under a pile of blueprints, as always) Peter makes his way back to the elevator. The smell of fresh ink and hot paper lingers on his hands as he cradles a stack of markups, his chest and face warm with excitement. It’s good to be back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think of the chapter!!


	34. Don't Fix Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a quick update, and here it is! 
> 
> TW for our usual angst and triggering material, proceed with caution. Yes, one relatively happy chapter was, in fact, too many relatively happy chapters. You did sign up for angst...

Peter returns to the workshop, breathless and glowing from his time down in the labs. He’s been gone for ages, but Tony has never been one to notice time flying. 

Just as he suspected, Tony is still sprawled on his position on the floor, even more holograms spiralling and flickering around him. Peter distantly wonders how the sight doesn’t nauseate him, before remembering that Tony flies around in a migraine-inducing tech bubble while fighting literal monsters; if he can handle that, he can definitely stomach a few holograms. Peter wishes he could be that strong. 

Peter shuffles toward Tony, kicking a few blueprints out of his way and trying to see the floor beneath the pile of markups in his arms. He dumps them on the ground in front of Tony, startling the older man, who sits up with a crazed look in his eye. 

“My babies!” Tony exclaims, scooping up the markups happily. 

Laughing silently at his mentor, Peter stumbles back to his workbench and prepares to lose himself in his work. 

He’s just getting settled when Tony’s voice rings across the room. “Pete, do you have a bank account?” Tony asks casually. 

“N-no? I mean, I have access to May’s, but I don’t have my own. Why, is there like an intern fee or something? I, uh, I don’t know if-” Peter rambles, feeling like his heart is about to jump out of his throat. 

“Nah, nothing like that. I just realized that I never set up any kind of salary for you, like I have for the other interns. Just wanted to know if I gotta help you set one up,” Tony reassures him, as if it’s fucking nothing. 

A salary? A bank account? Peter doesn’t deserve any of that, he’s not even a real intern. 

Peter breathes heavily, trying not to puke. “I, uh, I don’t need all of that, Mr. Stark.” He hates how wrong he is, how much of a lie that is. He does need it, more than he needs anything. God, imagine if he had a salary. He’d be able to pay back May, Flash, everyone. He’d be able to stop accepting handouts from grateful civilians, have the willpower to let them keep their food and their money and their kindness for themselves. 

“Nonsense, kid. I’m not running a sweatshop here. You’re working, you deserve to get paid for it,” Tony states, and Peter tries to find any hole he can in Tony’s logic. He comes up short. “I’ll set up a bank account for you, gimme like three days and you should be set. It’s a fucking annoying process, I’ll have Pep do it for you.” 

“Mr. Stark, you don’t have to,” Peter whispers, on the verge of losing his cool altogether. 

Tony chuckles, looking at Peter like he’s grown another head. “You know I don’t do anything I don’t want to do, kiddo.” 

“I, I guess?” Peter asks more than he says, his voice tilting as his entire world shifts on its axis. 

“Just helping my kid out, Pete,” Tony says offhandedly. 

Peter stops short. Just helping him out? What’s that supposed to mean? Peter knows that he doesn’t exactly have his life together, but when Tony says it like that, it sounds a hell of a lot more like a charity case than paying an employee. Helping him out? Bullshit. 

“Helping me out?” Peter asks, his voice going icy. 

Tony sits up, looking shocked by Peter’s tone. He seems to backpedal, a bit, his eyes flitting around the room as he tries to come up with an explanation. 

“Yeah, kid, I should’ve been paying you all along. Can’t blame me for trying to fix my mistake,” Tony says after a moment. He seems to immediately regret his choice of words, but Peter doesn’t let him explain himself. 

_ Fix his fucking mistake _ , that’s how he thinks of Peter. 

“You can’t just  _ fix  _ me, Mr. Stark. I’m not one of your little projects, I’m not a problem to solve. You don’t get to just put me back together, you fucking can’t,” Peter seethes. The edges of his vision have gone red, and he can feel his heart thumping in his chest. 

“Peter, I-” Tony starts, standing up to move closer to Peter. 

“Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want to be fixed?” Peter interrupts, words flowing from his mouth without his permission. “I’ve lived like this for  _ years  _ now. I’ve made it this far, and I can’t just change everything because you can’t stomach me doing what it takes to be a hero. Fuck, Tony, I thought you’d understand,” Peter asserts, his voice shaking as he tries not to literally yell at his mentor. 

“Kid, that’s not what I meant,” Tony says, looking worried. 

“I’m not a kid!” Peter shouts, knowing that he sounds more like a toddler throwing a tantrum than an adult, which only makes him more mad. “I don’t need your help.” 

“But you do, Peter. You told me that the other night, what happened to the Peter who reached out to me?” Tony asks. 

Peter has never hated himself more than he does in this moment. “That Peter was weak,” he says angrily. 

“Don’t say that,” Tony says harshly. Peter flinches back at his tone, but Tony doesn’t take it back. 

“Why not? It’s true,” Peter hisses. 

Tony looks at Peter like he’s seeing him for the first time. His eyes are wide, concerned, like he’s trying to take in every detail of Peter. Peter shrinks under his gaze, picking at his cuticles and averting his gaze. 

“What happened to you, Peter?” Tony asks. 

Peter hesitates, for a second, and wishes he could disappear. He’s let Tony down, again and again, and he wishes he could just keep hiding it. He wishes he could just keep faking it, keep holding it together just enough to avoid any questioning. Then, he realizes that he’s failed at that, too. 

Making up his mind, Peter takes a deep breath. Tony deserves to know the truth. He deserves to know what he’s getting himself into, inviting Peter back into his life. Plus, it’s not like he has anyone left to disappoint, after Tony. He’s already told Flash, telling Tony and letting him leave in a predictable way would almost be a relief at this point. At least then, he can stop waiting. 

“Have you ever gone two days without eating, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, plowing forward even as he hears Tony gasp audibly, “What about three? Or four, or seven? Have you ever felt hunger pains, so strong it feels like your stomach is ripping apart?” Peter draws in a sharp breath, remembering the feeling. “It’s the best fucking feeling in the world.” 

“What?” Tony sobs. Peter refuses to look up, refuses to see proof of how badly he’s disappointed his former mentor. 

“I wanted to die, Mr. Stark. I was thinking about killing myself. But then I felt that pain, that tearing, that ache inside. It was, it was almost like the pain wasn’t just in my head, anymore. It felt so fucking good. I wanted to hurt myself, and this hurt. Starving myself  _ hurt _ . It hurt so good.” Peter doesn’t realize how close Tony is until he feels the air shift beside him, sees Tony’s leg next to his on the workbench. He tries not to smile at how tiny his thigh looks, compared to Tony’s. He looks up at the sound of Tony’s voice. 

“Kiddo, I thought this was… I thought this started with the money thing?” Tony whispers, looking devastated. 

“Not really. I don’t know when I started to hate myself. I think it was before, before Ben, even. When Ben… when I killed him, it grew. It wasn’t like one day I just decided, I’m the worst and I’m selfish and I deserve nothing. It was more than that,” Peter says hollowly. He doesn’t fight it when Tony reaches out to grasp his shoulder with a calloused hand. 

“So what happened, kid?” Tony asks. 

“I just… It was easier to focus on how hungry I was, than to focus on… on how much I wanted to be done.” 

Tony is full-on crying now, his tears dripping onto his light wash jeans and making little dark spots. It reminds Peter of the oil stains that always used to speckle his clothes after a day in the workshop. 

“When did it stop being about the pain, and the money? When did it turn into this--this hating your body?” Tony asks shakily, like he doesn’t even want to know. He asked, though, so Peter must tell. 

“I’m honestly not sure. I started noticing it over holiday break, though. I hadn’t eaten for nearly seven days, I nearly blacked out on the stairs coming up to my apartment after a trip to the fucking dumpster behind Whole Foods the day before. They cut down on what they throw out during the holidays, you know, ‘cause more people are out on the streets. There was another family there, and they needed the food more than me. I had a granola bar in my room, from a week before, so I ate that. I just felt so  _ disgusting  _ after. So I just kept eating the tiniest things I could to get away with not passing out, because I needed to feel hungry. It helped that there wasn’t much in the apartment, I wasn’t ever tempted. I just told myself that I was leaving it for May, that she deserved it more than I did. I was right, of course. And then a couple weeks later, someone commented that they could see my abs through the suit. It was so stupid, so material, but it was one of the first compliments I’d gotten as Spider-Man in ages. Then, I realized that if they thought I looked better, it meant I didn’t look good before. I finally realized how repulsive I was. How soft, how slow, how  _ weak _ I was. So I kept it up. I lied to Flash, I didn’t eat more than a normal portion until... And even then, I was only ever eating with Flash. He just looked,  _ looks _ , so hopeful every time. So I’d take his snacks, and his super-sized portions, and I’d stomach them. I was doing enough, eating enough, to avoid suspicion and avoid passing out and avoid being weak. I was balancing it all, until that fucking night. I just had to go and fuck it up.” 

“Kiddo, I’m so fucking sorry,” Tony sobs. 

“I’m sorry--I’m sorry that I let you down,” Peter says, voice as hollow as he wishes he was. 

Tony pulls Peter into a hug, tugging his tiny body to nestle it against his own and holding tight. “Peter, listen to me. You are the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me. You have no fucking idea, kiddo. I need you to know that everything you feel about yourself, all of that self-hate, that voice in your head telling you that there’s something wrong with you, it’s the one that’s wrong. You are an amazing kid, a strong fucking person, and the best hero I know. We’re going to get through this,” Tony says, not letting go of Peter even as they both shake with sobs. 

Tony pulls away to look Peter in the eyes, earnest and hopeful. Peter wishes he could tell him, ‘ok, I believe you that things will be ok,’ but he can’t. He can’t because things aren’t going to be okay. Even if he puts the weight back on, even if he acts happy, even if Tony and Flash never leave him, it’s never going to stop the pain. 

“I’m tired,” Peter says quietly, because he can’t think of anything else to say. 

Tony nods sadly, “okay, kiddo. You remember where your room is? Pep and I kept it up for you, while you were… It’s still there for you,” he says, voice infinitely gentle. “Sleep as long as you need.” 

Peter nods, staying quiet so he won’t burst into tears. He doesn’t deserve Tony. 

Entering his bedroom from all those months ago, Peter feels his heart break. Everything is the same, but he isn’t. He crawls under the sheets after changing into a t-shirt, sweatshirt, and flannel pants, icy without Flash’s warmth beside him. He wants to text him, call him, something, but he can’t find the energy. Lying there in the bed of a hero he once was, Peter knows that he’ll never get back to who he was. He knows that he’s fucked up, broke, and wrong. He misses Tony so fucking much, misses May and Ben and his parents and MJ and Ned. He misses knowing who he was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please let me know what you think!!! I love your comments and I appreciate any and all feedback.


	35. That Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More IronDad! Enjoy!

Peter wakes up to the soft sound of Flash’s ringtone in his ear. He lies there, for a minute, basking in the softness of his sheets and the comfortable mattress beneath him. He doesn’t remember changing his sheets, has he always had a pair this soft? 

Turning over to pick up his phone, Peter is hit with reality. He gasps as he realizes that he’s in his old bed at the Tower, that the sheets covering him aren’t his, that he isn’t home. Suddenly, Peter is all the more glad that Flash is calling him. 

“Hey,” Peter breathes, yearning for the comfort that Flash always brings him. 

“Hi, yourself, Peter,” Flash’s voice filters through the speakers, making Peter smile. “You need a ride to school this morning?” 

Peter’s heart stops at the mention of school, and he only lets out a breath when he realizes that he still has more than enough time to get ready and take the Subway there. “Nah, I’m okay,” Peter says. He wants to tell Flash about his night at the Tower, but he isn’t sure how he can explain that _The_ Tony Stark has a room made up for him. 

“If you’re sure,” Flash asks, and Peter replies an affirmative. “See you there, darling.” 

“See you there, pumpkin,” Peter teases, relishing in the groan he receives before Flash hangs up. 

Peter pulls himself out of bed reluctantly, wishing he could stay cocooned in the warmth forever. His limbs ache from all of the walking he did around the Tower yesterday, and his stomach clenches with hunger. Pulling on his shirts and baggy MIT sweatshirt, Peter wonders if he can skip breakfast this morning. 

In the chaos and complication of yesterday, he managed to sneak by with only breakfast and lunch. Tony never offered him dinner, last night, since they didn’t get upstairs from the shop until well into the night. Peter isn’t sure if he forgot, but he’s silently grateful to have the comfort of his emptiness back. 

Walking down the stairs to Tony’s common kitchen, Peter is shocked to find Tony sitting at the kitchen counter. Usually, Tony is either asleep or in the shop at this time of morning, depending on whether he came up at all the night before. 

“Petey-pie!” Tony exclaims, looking up from the papers scattered around him. 

Peter waves awkwardly, stepping further into the kitchen. 

“C’mon, sit down. Grab a smoothie or something from the fridge, I have breakfast burritos for us from that place you like,” Tony says easily, beckoning Peter toward him. 

Peter wishes he could just run. He doesn’t understand how Tony wants him to eat an entire breakfast burrito and a smoothie, as if that isn’t two whole meals on their own. Peter grabs the smoothie with shaky hands, inspecting the murky purple-pink color and wondering what the hell Tony has snuck into it. Did he add protein powder? Whole milk? Sugar? Peter sucks down his first sip and tries not to spit it back out, the icy cold sludge settling heavily in his empty stomach. He can feel the cold slide down his throat, through his chest, into his gut. 

Tony doesn’t look up from his computer as Peter sits next to him, just pushes Peter’s burrito toward him. A thick silence hangs in the room and the only sound is Tony’s chewing and Peter’s pained swallows, making Peter want to rip his hair out. 

Peter is barely halfway through his smoothie when Tony is done with his burrito, but Tony doesn’t comment. Peter picks at the wrapper of his burrito, tearing the tin foil into little strips. Soon, his cup is empty and he feels like he’s going to explode. After so long without a meal, this feels like so much. 

Getting up to put his cup in the sink, Peter wonders if Tony will notice Peter slipping the burrito into his backpack for later. His questions are answered when Tony gives him a pointed look, nodding his head toward the abandoned food. Peter sighs, walks slowly back to the table, and settles himself in for another eternity of trying not to throw up the food he doesn’t even deserve to swallow. 

“So, kiddo,” Tony starts, and Peter looks up. “I have a list of therapists for you to take a glance at. No pressure, but after what you told me last night, I can’t sleep soundly knowing that you don’t have anyone to talk to.” 

Peter’s heart thumps out of his chest and he feels his breathing speed up.  _ You don’t have anyone to talk to _ , as if he and Flash don’t exist. Is this Tony’s way of saying that Peter’s too much for him, now? That’s just cruel, to let Peter think that he has a warm bed and an open mind to come back to, and just take it away. 

Tony must see the betrayal flashing on Peter’s face, as he immediately backtracks, “I mean, you don’t have a professional. Fuck, Pete, see? This is what I mean, I’m not good enough at this whole… words thing to help you the way you deserve to be helped.” 

“Tony, I-” Peter starts. He doesn’t need a professional, he doesn’t need help, he just needs to be stronger. If he was stronger, none of this would have even happened. He wouldn’t have even reached this point, whatever the hell it is. 

“No arguments, kid, and don’t tell me that you’ve got Flash. That kid sounds amazing, but he’s just that--a kid. You’re both just kids, Pete, and you deserve to have adults in your corner who can help you.” Tony’s stern in his argument, and Peter can’t help but hear him out. Sure, he may not see anyone, but he could take the list for Flash. Flash deserves a professional, someone to talk to about his dead, terrible parents and his stupid, useless boyfriend. Flash deserves the support that Tony’s trying to give him. 

“Ok, for Flash,” Peter says. He knows that Tony will misinterpret it, thinking that Peter’s agreeing to see someone to help Flash, rather than knowing that Peter’s just giving the list straight to Flash. 

This seems to satisfy Tony, and he hands Peter the list. “I would bring you to someone now, if I could, but I can’t. I’m not your, like, guardian, or whatever. You’re still a minor, so this is up to you and May. You need my help, though, and you can always come to me. Got it, kiddo?” Tony asks, eyes wide and vulnerable. 

Peter nods, even more satisfied knowing that Tony can’t even force him to follow through. 

“I’ll check in about it soon, okay?” Tony asks, and Peter shrugs. He doesn’t want to hint that he won’t even be attempting to contact anyone, so he doesn’t reject the offer, but he knows that he needs to start coming up with excuses. “Now, you good to go for school?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Peter mumbles, looking back down at the burrito he’s been clutching the whole time. It’s mangled and squished, now, as Peter had been unknowingly gripping it throughout the entire conversation. Parts of it have fallen out of the tortilla, landing on Tony’s spotless countertop. “Shit, sorry,” Peter says. 

Tony just laughs, saying, “Don’t worry about it, kid, I have people for that shit. Just grab a muffin or something instead.” 

Peter nods, hesitating before he throws away the burrito. Can he really waste this much food? Months ago, he would’ve died to fish this out of a dumpster. Peter shakes his head, holding the burrito like a prize, and says, “This is ok, I’ll just finish it.” 

Tony shoots him a weird look, but doesn’t question it as Peter shoves the burrito into his mouth with renewed vigor.  _ Don’t waste. Don’t be selfish. Take what you can get _ . 

By the time Peter walks out the door, he’s warm and stretched out from breakfast. He feels weird, on the edge between pained and comforted by his breakfast. On the one hand, he feels like he’s going to explode, his stomach taut and angry from eating so much. On the other hand, his heart is just as full, warmed by Tony’s efforts to connect with him and show Peter that he cares, even a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you all think! 
> 
> I have a LOT in the works, I'm currently deciding a lot about background characters' paths and how I want to take Peter's recovery. If you have any suggestions or just any notes, let me know!!


	36. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for verbal abuse, mild violence (very very mild) and familial issues. Proceed with caution.

When Peter opens the door to his apartment on Tuesday night, he doesn’t expect May to be home, much less sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him. Peter’s heart drops at the sight, his stomach churning with unexpected anxiety as he remembers telling her that he’d be home later than expected last night before he ended up sleeping at the Tower. The warmth that rested in his chest all day from his breakfast with Tony dissipates at the sight of his aunt, arms crossed and eyes hard. 

“Peter,” May speaks his name as if it’s a curse. Peter shrinks in on himself on instinct, wishing he could dissolve through the floor. Hearing her voice this loudly, this close to him, is more startling than he ever could have predicted. When did it become normal for him to only hear her through the walls? “Where were you yesterday?” 

Peter shuffles through excuse after excuse in his mind, yet he still comes up short. He can’t say he’s at Ned’s, because May likely called Ned’s mom last night when she discovered he wasn’t home. He definitely couldn’t say Flash’s, because May doesn’t even know that the two of them could stand to be in a room together. With no other option, Peter decides to bite the bullet and tell her the truth--or, at least, part of it. 

“I was at the Tower,” Peter mumbles. 

“Speak up,” May commands harshly, and Peter tries not to flinch. 

“I was a-at the Tower,” Peter repeats, louder but much less sure of himself, now. 

May recoils as if Peter slapped her, looking incredulous. “Stark Tower?” she asks, her voice cold and disbelieving. Peter feels his heart break in his chest, but he can’t take it back now. Betrayal sits heavy like a stone in his gut. 

“Y-yes,” Peter whispers. May doesn’t correct him, this time, but it’s no relief. 

“I can’t fucking believe this,” May mutters, standing to pace angry circles around the room. Her hands rest on her hips, steady as a surgeon’s and Peter wishes he could say the same for his own. His eyes burn with unshed tears. 

“May-” Peter begins pleadingly, ready to beg her to understand, ready to explain it as best he can. He knows he fucked up, but if she’d just let him  _ explain _ . 

“No,” May interrupts firmly. “No, Peter. You don’t get to disobey me like this. I made one rule, one fucking rule, and you go behind my back and fucking  _ spend the night _ in a place where I told you that you couldn’t even spend a minute!” 

“It’s not like that,” Peter starts again.

“Oh my God,” May huffs out exasperatedly, “You don’t get to do this to me, Peter. I didn’t raise you like this,” she punctuates her sentence by throwing her hands in the air, flustered, and then mutters, “you’re not my kid.” 

Peter feels his heart shatter. “May,  _ please _ , he’s just helping me out. I got my grades up, I’ve been studying, Tony’s just giving me a job. It’s not a big deal,” Peter asserts, trying to convince May that he didn’t intend to let her down. He truly didn’t, he just forgot. 

Peter hates himself for forgetting, too. He hates that he could just forget the only living member of his family, the only person he has left that he could depend on no matter what. 

“Not a big deal? Peter, you disobeyed the only fucking rule I’ve made all year,” May yells. Peter bites his tongue, wishing he didn’t think that it was the “only rule” just because it’s basically the only time she’s even spoken to him all year. 

“I-” Peter starts, but May interrupts him again. His mouth clamps shut so hard his teeth knock together. 

“You’re just a spoiled brat. It’s not a  _ job  _ for you there, Peter, and you know it. It’s a game, a childish chance for you to play with expensive tools and avoid your real responsibilities. Tony is a terrible influence, he’s enabling you. But you don’t care about that, do you? You don’t care that he’s taking you away from me, from your family. You’ve never cared what I go through every day just to keep you,” May spits. 

Peter nearly stumbles backward, at that. May just confirmed his worst fears to his face, and now she’s looking at him like she didn’t just completely destroy his entire world. 

“May, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m so much to handle, but that’s not Tony’s fault,” Peter rambles, not even sure what he’s trying to prove at this point. His head is spinning and he wishes he could just think for a second. 

“You know what? You want to defend him so badly, maybe you should go fucking live with him,” May’s voice has started to rise, just steps away from being a true scream. Peter’s ears ring with it, making him grit his teeth and wish he could cover his ears. It’s so loud that Peter can barely process her words, only letting them sink in a quiet moment later. 

_ Go fucking live with him _ . 

“May, wait,” Peter says frantically, his heart racing. Is she really kicking him out? She can’t be, she  _ wouldn’t _ . No matter how mad May’s gotten, no matter how much of a handful Peter has been, she’s never even threatened to kick him out before. This must be a misunderstanding. 

“You’re already there all the time, he’s already paying your fucking bills. Thank him for sharing that with me, by the way, it’s not like I’m your fucking guardian or anything,” May yells sarcastically, walking slowly toward Peter. “He’s already doing so much more than me, right, Peter? Tony’s  _ so  _ much better than me, right? Well, if you want him to be your fucking dad so baldy, go live with him!” May shoves his shoulders, knocking him back a few steps. Peter stumbles roughly, only barely able to catch himself and stay on his feet. His head swims and his vision blurs, a mix of fear and only having eaten two small meals that day. 

“Please, May, don’t make me,” Peter begs, tears starting to fall from his eyes. 

“Get the fuck out of my home,  _ mutant _ ,” May shoves him again, this time in the sternum. Peter can’t tell what hurts worse, the word or her hand knocking against the sharp bone of his chest. 

Peter sobs, knees buckling, and he grabs onto the wall for support. May slaps his hand away, harsh and stinging. “Please,” Peter sobs, his world crumbling beneath his feet. 

“Don’t bother packing a bag. Your  _ dad  _ can handle that, I’m sure,” May mocks him. Peter can’t speak; can’t defend himself, much less Tony. “Now get. The fuck. Out!” May punctuates each phrase with a shove, slamming the door in Peter’s face. 

“May,” Peter whispers to the closed door, feeling bruises bloom across his upper body from May’s harsh hands. He finally lets himself crumple to the floor, his chest feeling like a deflated balloon. Hands grasping at his hair, Peter tucks his head between his knees and squeezes his eyes shut. Rough sobs tear from his throat and he curls into a ball in the hallway, too exhausted and defeated to move. 

What feels like hours later, Peter is too dehydrated to cry anymore. Hiccups still wrack his frame, but his tears have all dried up and his throat feels like he swallowed crushed glass. Peter’s hands shake so forcefully as he winds them around his stomach that it scares him, until he realizes that it’s his entire body that’s shaking. Shivers run through his body, his stomach and chest convulsing with hollow, tearless sobs. Peter holds tightly to his stomach, latching his hands around the skin and flesh there like a lifeline. The pain barely touches him, barely helps at all, and it just makes Peter squeeze harder. 

He feels the skin burst beneath his fingers on one side, warm blood pooling at his fingertips as pain shoots sharply through his system. It calms him, a bit, and his grip loosens. Peter lies there, letting his blood soak his under his nails for hours. He’s never felt so hopeless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think!! This is a super formative chapter, feel free to vent in the comments


	37. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support and thoughts on the last chapter!! I'm trying to keep up with updates, here's the next chapter!

“Peter?” Flash answers his phone, confused as to why Peter is calling him at 5 o’clock on a Tuesday. Usually, Peter FaceTimes him long after dinner time, which Flash suspects has something to do with Peter’s aversion to eating. His heart soars at the sight of his boyfriend’s profile picture lighting up his screen, the sound of his specialized ringtone brightening Flash’s cold, empty room. 

After a moment, when Peter says nothing, Flash repeats his name. A series of deep breaths and hiccups meet his ears, and Flash goes into helper mode. He’s gotten quite practiced at talking Peter down from panic attacks, which isn’t exactly a skill that he wants to need, but he’s glad that he has it in times like these. 

“F-Flash,” Peter mumbles through the phone after a couple of long minutes, his voice like music to Flash’s ears. 

“Hey, baby,” Flash responds lightly, trying to get across how much he’s glad to hear from Peter despite the circumstances. 

"Flash, I... I can't-" Peter stutters, cutting himself off with a sob.   


"It's okay, baby, just breathe with me," Flash responds, keeping his voice level and steady. He breathes exaggeratedly through the phone, his heart stuttering each time Peter can't match it because he's sobbing too hard. Finally, Peter's breaths match his through the speaker, and Flash can think again. "Hey, darling," he says thickly. 

“Can you come get me?” Peter asks quietly, his voice barely audible over the phone. Flash wishes he had super-hearing like Peter. 

Flash hesitates a second before answering, “I always want to see you, darling, but isn’t tonight a May night?” Flash regrets asking immediately as a broken sob reaches his ears through the phone. “I’ll be right there, okay?” Flash corrects himself, deciding to cross the May bridge when he comes to it. 

"Hurry," Peter whispers, and Flash doesn't think he'll ever drive as quickly as he does that night. 

He arrives at Peter’s apartment building in record time, smiling despite his anxiety as he realizes that he hasn’t had to use his GPS to get there in weeks. Flash doesn’t have even a fraction of Peter’s directional talent, so this is really saying something for him. 

Deja vu barrels through his chest as he sees Peter standing outside of his apartment building, mirroring his position when Flash first came over after… his parents. Now, though, Flash isn’t the one who’s been crying; Peter’s cheeks are red and tear-stained, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. 

Flash throws himself out of the car, barreling forward to wrap Peter in his arms. He fits so snugly against Flash’s chest, his head resting just below the dip of Flash’s neck. 

“You okay, darling?” Flash asks in a whisper, dreading the answer. Peter shakes in his grasp, shivering like a leaf under his layers of clothes. Flash holds him tighter. 

Peter shakes his head, sniffling. “She kicked me out,” he whispers, so quietly that Flash barely hears him. 

_ What the fuck?  _

Flash thinks that he must have misheard, Peter can’t have just said that he was kicked out of his fucking home. 

“W-what,” Flash asks quietly. 

“May,” Peter sobs into his chest, “she kicked me out.” 

Flash feels anger burn white-hot in his chest, his hands balling into fists where they rest on Peter’s sweatshirt. 

“Let’s get you home,” Flash says quietly, leading Peter to his car. He can’t think about anything, right now, nothing but getting Peter into a warm, safe bed. He doesn’t say anything when Peter curls up in the passenger seat, doesn’t give him a second glance when he wraps himself around Flash’s outstretched arm for the entire ride back to Flash’s apartment. He just keeps his eyes forward, on the road, focusing all of his energy on not turning the car around and stalking up the stairs to murder May. Peter blinks at him blearily as Flash leads them up the stairs to his own apartment, refusing to let go of Peter even for a second. 

They make it to Flash’s bed and Peter collapses like it took everything out of him just to get there, which it probably did. His head thumps softly against the pillow, and Flash sits at his feet. 

Like a spell has been broken, Flash finally speaks again. “Darling, please tell me what happened,” he begs. 

Peter breathes shakily, looking toward Flash while keeping his head locked against the pillow like it’s too heavy for him to lift. He just stares at Flash with his big, beautiful eyes and Flash can’t help but ask, “d-did she hurt you, Peter?” 

When Peter doesn’t answer, Flash feels his heart stutter in his chest. Peter takes another deep breath, like he’s trying to reassure himself that he’s still alive, and begins to speak. 

“She used to say I was the best thing that ever happened to her. She was really wonderful, you know? After my parents… she and Ben were still so  _ young _ . Too young to be stuck with me, probably, but they loved me. May always said I was the best thing that happened to her, always said she wouldn’t change a thing. Ben used to smile at me in secret, then, like he knew something I didn’t. I never found out what that thing was,” Peter takes a breath and smiles up at the ceiling. “You might think I wouldn’t remember, but I do. I remember Ben singing to me, May running her fingers through my hair.” 

Flash pauses in his motions, glancing at where his own hand is tangled in Peter’s hair. He debates moving it, but Peter doesn’t seem to mind, so he slowly starts his rhythmic pets again. Peter sighs. 

“After Ben, she always said it was me and her against the world. It was my fault that Ben left us, you know. I couldn’t save him, it was right after the Bite. I should’ve saved him, but I was too weak. She doesn’t know it, I don’t think, but I’m the reason he’s gone,” Peter whispers. He looks so far away, right now, his eyes glassy and unseeing as they lock, unfocused, on the ceiling. 

“Peter-” Flash starts, before realizing he has no idea what to say. This burden, it’s so heavy, he doesn’t know how Peter’s managed to carry it this long. 

“I promised I’d be better, after that. I promised myself, I promised her. I started to help out more, started doing Ben’s chores, Ben’s cooking, but it wasn’t enough. May was still so tired. I had to do more. I was doing so well, Flash, I was trying so fucking hard. I did all of the chores, I helped May cook, I did all of the accounting for her fucking taxes because that was always Ben’s job. But it wasn’t enough, nothing I ever did was  _ enough _ ,” Peter grits out, looking so frustrated and so angry that it makes Flash want to hit something for him. 

“Baby, I’m so fucking sorry,” Flash says, his heart thumping in his chest. 

“She kicked me out,” Peter says again, his voice hollow and disbelieving. “I can’t ever go back.” 

Flash’s heart breaks for Peter. He’s lost so many people, more than anyone ever should, and now he’s just lost another. Peter is so kind, so generous, he doesn’t deserve this. He already thinks everyone is going to leave him someday, and today he just got proof of the fear that Flash has been trying to fight since the beginning. How can he ever hope to convince Peter that he’s going to stick around if Peter’s family can’t? 

Flash is at a loss for words, so he says nothing, instead just continuing to card his fingers through Peter’s hair. Peter stares at the ceiling, silent tears dripping down his face. Flash reaches out and gently swipes his thumb across Peter’s cheek, collecting the tears and cradling Peter’s face in one motion. He wishes he could do more.

“Fuck,” Peter says suddenly, sitting up out of the blue. “Everything I own is there, Flash,” he sways a bit and Flash wonders how long it’s been since he’s eaten. 

“That’s okay, baby, we’ll get it back,” Flash reassures him, laying a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

Peter shakes his head, eyes wild. “We can’t, I can’t go back. I’m not going back there.” 

Flash thinks, for a second, before saying, “we’ll get you new stuff, then.” He knows that Peter hates the thought of anyone spending money on him, but there’s not exactly an alternative. 

Peter opens his mouth as if to disagree, but nothing comes out. The fight has gone out of him. He shuts it again, lies back down. Closes his eyes. Breathes, like he isn’t sure if he still can. 

Flash picks up his phone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uhhhhhh let me know what you think!


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments and support on the past few chapters! I really appreciate any and all feedback :) For now, enjoy the chapter, and check the end notes for more!

It’s surreal having Tony Stark in his home. Flash couldn’t believe his eyes when he opened the door to his apartment to see  _ The  _ Tony Stark standing there dressed in jeans and an old band t-shirt, his suit coat thrown over it to brace against the chilly New York air. 

“Where’s my kid,” is the first thing that leaves Tony’s mouth. Flash stands there, mouth open and eyes wide, as he takes in the scene. He knows how important Peter is to Tony, but every time Tony says something like this, it catches him off guard. “Earth to Euguene, hello, where’s Peter?” Tony says, urgent and frustrated. Flash tries not to flinch at the use of his real name. 

“Sorry, sorry, he’s in my room. He’s asleep, been like that for a few hours,” Flash says, trying not to stumble over his words. 

Flash’s heart races as Tony pushes past him and he tries to explain it away as being starstruck, ignoring the phantom sting in his back at the furious look in the man’s eyes. 

_ This isn’t you. This isn’t your fault. He isn’t mad at you. _

Flash takes a deep breath and settles down in one of the chairs next to Tony at his kitchen table, awkwardly messing around with absolutely nothing on his phone to try to settle into the silence around them. He can hear himself breathing. 

“Kid, what happened?” Tony asks after a while, likely just as uncomfortable with the silence as Flash is. 

Flash takes a deep breath, pushing away the little voice in his mind that’s telling him that he’s betraying Peter by saying anything. “May kicked him out,” he says softly, the words tasting like acid in his mouth. 

“What the fuck,” Tony yells angrily. 

Flash flinches back harshly, the hairs on his neck standing up and his heart dropping to his stomach. When he looks up at Tony through his hair, the man looks so concerned that it nearly gives him whiplash. Flash takes a series of deep breaths, trying to calm himself like Peter taught him, and forces himself to _ get it the fuck together _ . This is about Peter, not him.

“Eugene-” Tony starts, but Flash just shakes his head, and Tony nods stoically. “So, May.” 

Flash nods again, unsure of what else to do. 

“Why the fuck would she kick him out?” Tony wonders, and Flash can’t tell whether he’s asking him or if he’s just thinking out loud. 

“She, uh, she just did, I guess. Peter didn’t tell me much, before. He refuses to blame her, says that he was just too much for her. How the fuck could he think that? Peter’s the most giving person I know, he doesn’t have a single selfish bone in his body,” Flash rambles, unable to lock down his emotions. Usually, he can flip that little switch in his mind, the one that his mom ingrained into him, the one that his dad beat and carved and scarred into his mind. With Peter, though, he can’t control his emotions. It hasn’t been a bad thing, not until now. 

Now, Flash is on the verge of tears in front of the most dangerous billionaire on Earth. Now, Peter is lying, sad and alone, on Flash’s bed. Now, he’s the one who has to be strong. 

“So, what, she just kicks him out? What kind of piece of shit adult just lets a sixteen-year-old kid loose in New York to find a home and a job and a fucking bed to sleep in?” Tony rants, standing up to pace around Flash’s kitchen. 

“I-I don’t know,” Flash whispers, feeling his chest constrict. “I don’t fucking know.” Tony turns to look at him and Flash has to avert his eyes to keep from crying. “I- he can stay with me?” Flash offers, his voice shaking. 

“No way,” Tony says immediately. 

Flash takes advantage of the offense he feels at the statement, letting anger flood his veins rather than the terrifying worry that’s been residing there. “Why the fuck not?” 

“The kid deserves a real fucking home, Euguene, not some cramped little apartment with someone who’s barely a few months older than him. You’re just seventeen, kid, you can barely take care of yourself, much less another teenager,” Tony lists off, and Flash hates how much he makes sense. 

“Peter basically lives with me anyway, though, it wouldn’t be that hard to just move him in,” Flash says, fighting Tony on it just to fight. He knows that he won’t win, but it feels good to have something to fight about. It gives him purpose. 

“He needs a guardian, not a boyfriend, kid. Loving him isn’t going to be enough, here,” Tony says none-too-gently. 

Even though he saw it coming, the harshness of Tony’s words hurt. He knows that it isn’t enough, but why should that stop him from trying? 

“I just… I really care about him,” Flash mumbles, looking down at his hands on the table. He wishes he could see Peter’s hand there, intertwined with his. 

“I know, kid,” Tony says gently. “I can take it from here.”

\---

“You can’t catch a break, can you, kiddo?” 

Peter startles at the sound, sitting up in Flash’s bed to look for the source. His heart nearly stops when he sees Tony at the door, his arms open wide and his eyes soft. Peter nearly launches himself out of the bed, his head spinning dizzily and he runs forward and fits himself against his mentor’s chest. He clings to Tony so tightly he’s almost worried he’ll break him, too emotional and scared to reign in his super-strength. 

“Hey, Pete,” Tony whispers into his hair, and Peter has to bite his lip hard to keep from sobbing. Silent tears slide down his face as he breathes in the comforting smell of motor oil and expensive cologne. 

“S-so sorry,” Peter mumbles, trying not to let his voice shake too badly. 

“Woah, woah, don’t worry about that right now. Come sit with me and Eugene, yeah? First we’ll get comfy, then we can chat,” Tony says gently, squeezing Peter one more time before starting to pull away. 

Peter’s heart tugs when he feels Tony releasing him, but he doesn’t want to push it, so he reluctantly lets go and takes a step back. He takes a deep breath, squeezing his fists to keep himself from reaching out again. He tries to convince himself that the sharp bite of his fingernails against his palms feels close enough.

He follows Tony into Flash’s living area, barely even registering how weird it is to see Tony Stark in his boyfriend’s apartment, walking confidently to sit on his boyfriend’s couch, next to his boyfriend. Weird. 

Peter settles himself next to Flash, curling into the other boy’s side and leeching the warmth from him. Tony sits on his other side, a couple of feet away, and Peter can’t decipher his emotions. He decides that it’s too much effort to even try, and tucks his head against Flash’s neck. 

Peter keeps waiting to wake up. 

He’s had this nightmare before, or some iteration of it. His aunt leaves him, usually, dying in his arms just like Ben. He’s never dreamt of her kicking him out, but his imagination is a vivid place. This has to be another one of those dreams, right? 

“Kid? Pete, you here?” Tony’s voice filters through his haze, his head swinging toward the sound dizzyingly. “Hey, kiddo. Glad you’re with us again,” Tony says when his eyes meet Peter’s. 

Peter just blinks in response. Words are so tiring, right now. 

“You’re gonna be staying with me for a bit, got it kiddo? Mi casa es su casa, and all of that shit,” Tony says. 

Well, this is new. 

Usually, in his dreams, Peter is left all alone. He’s stuck in his tiny, dusty apartment, or out on the streets. Flash leaves him, or dies, and Tony is never around to pick up the pieces. 

But that doesn’t make this real, it can’t. This can’t be real. 

Peter nods just to get Tony to stop looking at him with that face, that pity-filled gaze that makes him feel like he just got his legs amputated rather than just being in a shitty nightmare. 

Tony smiles a bit, the gesture not meeting his eyes, and Peter turns away again. 

He’ll wake up soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I started this story with the intention not to have any physical intimacy beyond some really innocent touches, but I personally think that they deserve something deeper now. Emotional intimacy usually goes hand-in-hand with some physical intimacy, for most people, and both Peter and Flash definitely have physical touch love languages in this story... basically, I would love it if y'all would let me know what you're comfortable with in the comments! I definitely don't plan on including any actual sex/smut, but I think that something other than a few kisses here and there would make sense for them. Just let me know what you think, and feel free to completely shut me down if you disagree! I'd love to hear what you all think on the matter for upcoming chapters!


	39. Laid Bare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thank you so much for voting last chapter!! I love your suggestions and feedback, hopefully this chapter does it justice :)

Not even 12 hours have passed, yet the bed doesn’t feel quite as soft beneath him as it did that morning. The room doesn’t feel as warm, the sheets not as cozy. Lying in his old room--his new room?--his room in the Tower, Peter can barely reconcile himself from this morning with where he is now. 

Peter’s only consolation is Flash’s body next to his. The air feels staticy between them, Peter’s nerves on edge. He’s long since realized that this is real, that he isn’t in some dream that he’s about to wake up from. May really kicked him out, this is really his life. 

How could things change so quickly in just one day?

Flash shifts next to him, the bed tilting a bit with the change in weight as Flash scoots closer to Peter. Peter breathes a sigh of relief as Flash’s skin presses against him, the pressure more comforting than he thought it would be. 

Without a word, Peter moves to curl against Flash. He tucks his head against Flash’s shoulder, pressing his nose against Flash’s chest to breathe in his warmth and familiarity. Flash’s hand comes up to wrap loosely around the back of Peter’s neck, cradling his head in his big hands and rubbing his fingertips under Peter’s jaw. 

“God, I missed you,” Flash whispers, so quietly Peter almost thinks he made it up. Only the rabbitting sound of Flash’s heart lets him know that it was real, and even then Peter can barely believe it. 

He squeezes Flash tighter, his grip going from barely-there to light pressure as Peter allows himself to relax against the other boy. He feels Flash’s heart speed up impossibly faster and listens to his heart’s staccato thumping matching it, hands sweating and cheeks flushed. 

“I missed you, too,” Peter whispers back, just as gently. 

Peter gasps as Flash’s hand dips under his shirts, coming to rest on Peter’s ribcage. He tries not to squirm out of his grasp, but his insecurities get the better of him, and Peter shies away. 

“Darling, look at me,” Flash says, voice strong but still gentle. It’s just commanding enough to make Peter look up tentatively, forcing himself to meet Flash’s eyes. They’re wide and soft, and there’s a little crease between Flash’s eyebrows. Peter wants to kiss it away. 

“Peter, what happened today, it doesn’t change anything between us. Just because one person let you down, doesn’t mean that I’m going to follow in her footsteps. I still care about you, I still want to be with you you, I still want to talk to you all day, every day,” Flash says. He takes a deep breath and Peter matches it without thinking, feeling their chests press together as they both inhale. “I-I still want to, to hold you,” Flash whispers, and Peter can’t help but shiver. 

“Flash, I… I want that, all of that, too,” Peter says quietly, his voice shaking. He doesn’t understand how Flash could see anything appealing in him, much less anything beautiful, but he knows with certainty that Flash is the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen. His eyes are so gentle, so intelligent. His hair is so soft, his jawline so sharp. Flash’s mind, it’s so clever, and his arms are so strong where they’ve settled around Peter. 

Flash’s pretty lips curl into a small smile before he leans toward Peter, connecting their lips in a chaste kiss. Peter feels his heart soar and his stomach drop as one of Flash’s big hands settles on his waist, both comforting and so nerve-wracking it makes Peter want to jump out of his skin. Flash pulls back, and Peter tilts down on instinct to reconnect their lips. 

Flash sighs into the kiss, and Peter decides that he would do whatever it takes to keep kissing Flash. Somehow, they move into a sitting position, Peter in Flash’s lap as the other teen reclines on the mountain of pillows that Tony decided Peter needed, for some reason. 

“Flash,” Peter says breathily, pulling away just barely as he reaches for Flash’s thin T-shirt. Flash smirks, taking it off in one swift movement, and Peter can’t help but laugh at the reminder of his ex-bully’s cockiness. 

Flash’s skin is so smooth, so warm and soft. His biceps bulge as he reaches for Peter again, and Peter can’t help but rest a palm on the muscle. His hand looks so small and pale against Flash’s expanse of brown skin, and the contrast makes him dizzy. 

Flash leans back to rest against the pillows behind him, again, and Peter can’t help but be disappointed that he can’t run his hands across Flash’s back. Instead, he busies himself with slowly memorizing the shape of Flash’s arms, his chest, his torso. The muscles of his abs shake a bit as Peter runs his fingertips over them, quaking beneath a soft layer of skin, just hidden from Peter’s view. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone as perfect as Flash, and he can’t help but feel inadequate in comparison. 

Peter dips forward to kiss Flash again, slow and savoring, something in the back of his mind telling him to savor it. 

“Can I?” Flash asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he tugs lightly on Peter’s sweatshirt. Peter’s heart races, but he nods, not wanting to ruin the moment. 

Flash has seen him before, he knows what Peter looks like. He doesn’t have to worry, he’s not going to shock him, Flash asked for a reason. Peter repeats this like a mantra in his head, letting Flash pull his sweatshirt over his head, leaving him in just a T-shirt. 

“So pretty,” Flash whispers into the curve of Peter’s neck, almost like he’s not even aware that he’s saying it. Peter blushes deeply, forcing himself not to shake his head at the compliment. 

“Flash,” Peter says again, and he thinks that it’s the only word he remembers how to say. Well, that and three other words, but Peter won’t let those slip from his lips. 

Flash’s hands run all over Peter’s torso, his arms, his thighs on Flash’s lap, like there’s actually something there to appreciate. Peter knots one of his own hands in Flash’s hair, the other still resting lightly on Flash’s arm. 

“Please, Pete,” Flash breathes, “please, can I take off your shirt?” 

Peter feels his whole body tilt forward at the desperate sound of Flash’s voice, capturing the other boy’s lips with his own and kissing him fiercely. He only pulls away long enough to gasp out a, “yes,” barely thinking his own words through. 

Flash struggles to pull Peter’s shirt off with their mouths still connected, causing both boys to giggle as they get tangled in the fabric for a second. Peter finally relaxes, focusing on Flash’s face rather than his own body, when Flash’s entire demeanor changes. 

Peter’s heart drops as he watches Flash’s eyes drop to his stomach, going from playful and filled with adoration to absolutely disgusted. He hurries to cover himself, his stupid arms doing nothing to conceal his horrible body from Flash’s gaze. 

“Peter,” Flash says, his voice breaking. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, just… just give me my shirt, I’m sorry,” Peter rambles, trying desperately to get back to the place they were just moments earlier. 

_ You ruined it. You’re so disgusting, he can’t even stand to look at you.  _

“No, no, baby,” Flash croaks, his voice doing nothing to reassure Peter that there’s nothing wrong. 

“I get it, it’s fine, just give me my shirt,” Peter begs, “please, I didn’t mean to--” 

Flash refuses to hand over his T-shirt and Peter feels his heart break. He’s so embarrassed, so ashamed, and Flash won’t even let him cover himself. Peter wraps his arms around his stomach to try to hide something, to cover just a bit of himself, and he flinches instinctively when he feels Flash’s hand on his forearm. 

“Darling, no, it’s not you,” Flash says, and Peter laughs derisevely at the stupid, age-old ‘it’s not you it’s me’ line. “It’s not you, baby, it’s just… the  _ bruises _ ,” Flash says slowly. 

Peter freezes, finally looking down at himself for the first time. 

_ Oh _ . 

There are nearly half a dozen dark, purple bruises scattered across Peter’s chest. They’re all different sizes, the biggest one resting darkly against his sternum, vaguely in the shape of a hand. A few smaller ones litter his chest, one deep yellow one pressed into his upper arm. 

“Peter, what-” Flash cuts himself off, his eyes watering. “Did she do this?” 

Peter finds himself nodding, feeling a thousand miles away. He knew that it hurt when May shoved him out of the apartment, he felt the pain in the moment, but he didn’t realize that it had been harsh enough to actually leave a mark. 

He didn’t realize that she left marks. 

“Oh my God, baby,” Flash gasps, gathering Peter’s shaking frame in his arms. Peter can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything as he lets Flash comfort him. How is he supposed to react now, when he didn’t even notice in the first place? 

Peter pulls back, even as Flash tries to latch onto him. 

“You, you didn’t answer when I asked if she hurt you. Darling, why didn’t you tell me? Oh my  _ God _ , Peter, she did this to you!” Flash rambles, his voice growing louder and louder with each sentence. 

Peter can’t do anything but blink numbly at him, and shiver a bit with how cold he’s gotten. Why is he so cold, all of the sudden? 

“I, uh, I guess I didn’t realize,” he mumbles, not sure whether he’s ashamed or just confused. 

A slow tear falls from Flash’s eyes, making its way down his cheek, and Peter reaches out to swipe it away. Flash turns his head, moving out of Peter’s reach, and that just  _ hurts _ . 

“Peter,” Flash whispers, and Peter can’t force himself to look up and meet Flash’s eyes, not after that. “Peter,” Flash repeats, louder. He feels Flash’s hand on his cheek, now, and a spiteful part of him wants to pull away like Flash did. Instead, he glances up, unable to disappoint Flash any more than he already has. “You shouldn’t be the one comforting me, dammit,” Flash growls, and Peter’s heart races. 

“What?” he asks, feeling like all the air was sucked out of him. 

“I should be comforting you, darling. You’re the one who got hurt, not me,” Flash says angrily. 

“I’m okay, Flash. Super-healing, and all of that. It’ll be gone by the morning, it’s not a big deal,” Peter reassures him, elated despite the situation that Flash isn’t disgusted by him. 

Flash squeezes his eyes shut, and Peter can’t help but be confused. 

“Just because you’ll be healed by the morning doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt, baby,” Flash says. 

“Well, yeah, but it’s not as big of a deal for me. I’ve had worse,” Peter says, immediately regretting his choice of words as Flash chokes back a sob. 

“Has she done this to you before?” he asks, eyes wide. 

Peter shakes his head immediately, “no, no, just today. She, uh, she just wanted me out. I wouldn’t leave, she had to make me leave,” Peter says quickly. 

“She didn’t have to make you leave, Peter!” Flash bursts out, face red with anger. “She should have let you stay, she didn’t have to kick you out! You’re just a  _ kid _ , Peter, we both are. Adults aren’t supposed to punish you, not like this.” Flash rests a hand on the bruise on Peter’s sternum, his large hand covering the mark and more. “Never like this,” he whispers. 

“I know she was a little harsh, but it’s not like I made it easy for her,” Peter responds, defending May without even realizing it. He’s so used to them being on the same side, to her being in his corner, that anything else feels like betrayal. 

“It’s not your job to make things easy for her, Peter!” Flash shouts, chest heaving. “She’s the adult. She’s, she was your guardian, she was the one who should’ve made your life easy.” 

Peter hesitates, because Flash isn’t exactly wrong. Still, Peter knows he’s been a burden to her, he can’t blame her for wanting him gone. Sure, she could’ve been a bit more gentle, but Peter can’t exactly fault her for losing it on him. 

“C-can we just, can we drop it?” Peter asks, his heart pounding. He doesn’t want to talk about this, he isn’t ready to ruin his image of his last family member. If she’s evil, if she’s the villain, then what does that make him? If he doesn’t have her, then what does he have? 

Flash sighs, wiping the tears from his face forcefully. “I’m not letting this go, Peter. This is abuse,” Flash says, voice strong even as he continues to cry. 

“N-no, it’s not,” Peter asserts, his stomach swooping and his hands sweating. 

“It is, Peter!” Flash yells, grabbing Peter’s hands. “It is, and if anyone would fucking know it, it’s me!” 

Peter freezes. Flash has never talked about his past before, not any more than he’s had to. 

“I know the signs, Peter, and I’m not going to let you make excuses for her,” Flash says pointedly, and Peter can’t help but nod his head quietly. “I, fuck, I don’t want to make this about me,” Flash sighs, like he’s just realized what he had been saying. 

“No, Flash, it’s okay,” Peter rushes out. He isn’t sure if he just doesn’t want to talk about himself, or if it’s just because he’s waited so long for Flash to open up, but he doesn’t want to ruin this. “I’m here to listen, if you feel like you’re ready to tell me. If not, we can go back to cuddling, I won’t be disappointed either way.” 

Peter silently marvels at how seamlessly they’re able to switch roles, how easy it is for them to comfort one another. He’s never had this with anyone else, and he never wants to lose the vulnerable, open way that Flash looks at him, like all he needs to feel better is Peter. 

“I-if you’re sure?” Flash says, his voice tilting up into a question. Peter nods, and Flash looks down at their intertwined hands. “Just, promise you won’t judge me,” he says. 

“I promise,” Peter whispers, and then his world shatters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	40. But I Feel Safe With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 is here!! Enjoy! 
> 
> TW for past child abuse, violence, physical reminders of violence

“Just, promise you won’t judge me,” Flash says, his voice shaking. 

“I promise,” Peter whispers. 

Flash takes a deep breath, closing his eyes gently. When he opens them, it’s like a switch has flipped. His face is nearly expressionless, his pounding heart the only thing giving away his anxiety. 

“So, you kind of know what my parents were like, right?” Flash starts. “It wasn’t as, umm, as tame as I guess I let you think. My father, he was such a cold person. It’s like he’d never had an emotion in his life, except maybe anger. Even when he was angry, though, it wasn’t like when anyone else was angry. He wouldn’t get red in the face, he would just act.” Flash shudders, pressing himself back into the pillows behind him. 

Peter squeezes Flash’s hand in his, saying nothing but comforting him nonetheless.

“My mother, she was kind of the same way. She hated me, even before she had me. My father made her go through with my birth, said he wanted a son or something, even though my mother never wanted children. She lost everything because of me. Her job, her independence, all of it. So, I tried to be the perfect son. I did what I was told, Peter, I tried so hard. It just wasn’t ever enough,” Flash grits out. His voice has gone stone-cold and monotone, like it only ever does when he’s too scared to move. His eyes are distant and glassy, staring just above Peter’s right shoulder like he’s trying to convince Peter that he’s making eye contact. 

Peter’s chest aches with how similar Flash’s words are to the ones he spoke just minutes before, how close his childhood was to Peter’s. Sure, May wasn’t physically abusive like Flash’s dad was, but his mom sounded so similar to the woman May had become. Both boys had to be perfect from the start, neither one allowing himself to make a mistake. Peter shoves that thought from his mind, pushing down all of his feelings toward May, and focuses on the vulnerable boy in front of him. 

“No matter how hard I tried, I would always fuck up. I’d be late to school, I’d get a 98 on the test when you got a 100, I’d graduate seventh grade as second in the class instead of first. That’s why I used to hate you so much, you know. I didn’t realize that I was just blaming you for my fuck-ups, and that’s really shitty of me,” Flash pauses in his recounting for a second, looking Peter in the eyes for the first time as he apologizes. Peter gives him a soft smile and a nod, not feeling extremely surprised at the information. He never blamed Flash for it, and now that he knows the real reasoning behind it, he thinks he would’ve hated himself, too. “Anyway, my parents didn’t just see it as me coming in second. They saw it as a failure, something I had to be punished for. So they punished me,” Flash states coldly. Peter feels his stomach lurch, even though he already knew that Flash’s parents were abusive. Just because he knows, it doesn’t make any of this easier.

“My father had a system. He discovered pretty early-on that he didn’t like to get his hands dirty. I think he’s only ever punched me twice in my life, and both were at the beginning. He hated to bruise his knuckles or get my blood on his hands, so he started experimenting. His favorite was the belt. It was distant, the metal just as cold as he was. He didn’t have to touch me, which I think was his favorite part,” Flash laughs hollowly. “After a while, we both fell into the routine. Before he could even come into my room, I’d have my belt off and my shirt folded on my bed. I’d kneel, back to the door, and only then would he come in. Sometimes, I think I started to impress him. Maybe I just wanted to feel like I was making him proud,” Flash says. His voice hasn’t shaken at all, though Peter has begun to cry. 

Peter knew Flash’s dad was bad, but he had no idea how far it went. He mentally berates himself for not asking Flash about this ages ago when everything first happened with his parents. He should’ve given Flash even a fraction of the support that Flash has been giving him, and he hates himself for being so selfish and one-sighted. 

“Baby, I’m so sorry this happened to you. I’m so sorry for not asking you, too. You didn’t deserve it, and you make me proud everyday,” Peter says firmly, though his voice shakes with tears. 

“I don’t, though, Peter. I can’t make you proud if I keep letting you down,” Flash says, tears finally filling his eyes as he curls his arms around Peter, where he still rests in Flash’s lap. Their position is so similar, yet so jarringly different to the intimate situation they were in before. 

“You haven’t let me down, Flash,” Peter says emphatically. 

“I should’ve seen the signs,” Flash says, shaking his head. “I should’ve known, I should’ve asked more.” 

“No, Flash, none of this is your fault,” Peter says. “She never hurt me before, and you asked so many times. It’s okay that you missed it just this once, it isn’t your job to relive your trauma just to help me.” 

Flash shakes his head but says nothing. “Can I see?” Peter asks quietly. Flash looks up, confused, before realization dawns on his face. He nods, and Peter slides off of his lap to give him some room to move. 

Flash sits up on his knees and turns around on the bed, graceful even as he navigates the mountain of pillows at his back and Peter’s spindly legs in front of him. 

Peter gasps when he sees Flash’s back. 

Thick, white scars criss-cross his skin, standing out starkly against his light brown skin. Some stick out more, pink or even a light purple with how many layers of skin were broken. 

“Baby,” Peter whispers, the pet name falling out of his mouth without prompting even though he knows Flash usually doesn’t love them. Thankfully, it was the right choice of words, because Flash’s shoulders sag in relief. “C-can I touch?” Peter asks softly, his hand hovering a few inches above Flash’s skin. 

“J-just, just be gentle?” Flash asks, like he’s scared Peter will deny his request. 

“Of course,” Peter responds immediately. He starts by resting one hand on Flash’s arm, swallowing a sob as Flash’s whole body jerks at the contact. Now that Flash is prepared, Peter reaches his other hand out to softly rest on Flash’s shoulder. The thick scar there is banded and coarse to Peter’s touch as he runs shaking fingers lightly across Flash’s skin. He hears Flash gasp at the contact, but he doesn’t flinch away; instead, Flash leans into Peter’s hands, his whole back shuddering like a cat’s at the gentle touches. 

“Okay?” Peter asks after a minute, ready to pull away at the first sign that Flash is afraid. 

Flash nods, reaching blindly behind himself to hold Peter’s free hand where it’s fallen into Peter’s lap. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Feels good.” 

“Good?” Peter asks, confused. 

“Yeah, ‘s good,” Flash slurs, his voice going soft and relaxed. “First time it doesn’t hurt,” he breathes, and it clicks. 

This is the first time anyone has touched the bare skin of Flash’s back with care, with love. The first time it hasn’t been a punishment, the first time it’s been a hand rather than a belt. Peter decides, right then and there, that he’s going to fix that. 

Peter runs his hand down Flash’s back to rest at the crease of his waist and just lets it sit there. He lets Flash become accustomed to the pressure, feels the shiver that runs through his boyfriend. Flash leans his head back, after a second, and looks up at Peter’s face. 

Peter tries not to feel insecure at the terrible angle that Flash must be seeing him from, instead focusing on the happy look in his boyfriend’s eyes. Peter leans down and places a kiss on Flash’s nose, yelping when Flash pulls hard at the hand he’s been holding the whole time. Peter careens to the left, but Flash catches him gently before his head collides with Flash’s knee. Peter ends up curled like a C around Flash’s body, his legs behind Flash’s back and his torso and head basically in Flash’s lap. 

Flash leans down and kisses Peter properly, a silent  _ thank you _ , before reaching down and pulling Peter up to eye level easily. Peter’s heart flutters at how easy it is for Flash to move him where he pleases, positioning him how he likes. Peter ends up cross-legged in front of Flash, their knees touching, Flash’s arms under Peter’s. 

Peter stretches forward, wrapping his arms around Flash’s neck and sliding one hand down to rest between his shoulder blades. Flash breathes a soft sigh of relief, resting his forehead against Peter’s, and they stay like that for what feels like hours.

Their breaths mingle between them, the two teens passing air back and forth like a cigarette. Either Flash or Peter will lean forward for a quick kiss every so often, but for the most part, they just sit together, wrapped in each other’s arms. 

When the lights dim and the blinds shut automatically at 10, they move lie side-by-side, never letting go of each other’s hands or arms or lips. Peter looks over at Flash, once they’re settled, and feels his chest constrict with too many emotions to define. 

“We’ll be okay, right?” Peter whispers, turning to rest his head on Flash’s chest. 

“More than okay,” Flash responds, wrapping an arm around Peter’s bare torso. 

They fall asleep quickly, and the next day, neither can be sure if they even dreamed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... now we know why Flash is the way he is
> 
> Let me know what you all think!!


	41. Downward Spiral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow updates! I'm wrapping things up slowly, so there will probably be only a dozen or so chapters to go. Enjoy!

When Peter wakes up, the room is still dark, the blinds drawn over the floor-to-ceiling windows on the wall next to his bed. At first, he remembers nothing but the day before, scenes of  _ MayNoPleaseDon’t  _ playing like film through his head. He remembers whispered words, painful confessions, and the look of horror and pity on Flash’s handsome face. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel so confused about waking up alone. 

Panic slowly starts to claw at the back of his mind, but he pushes it down, refusing to freak out if Flash has just gone to the bathroom or something. The bed next to him is cold, though, with none of Flash’s lingering body heat, and it makes Peter shake. 

He takes a deep breath and, when he pushes himself into a sitting position, his head spins. It’s eight in the morning, a Wednesday, a school day. Has Flash just left him here, gone to school without him, without even saying goodbye? 

Peter tells himself that maybe Flash didn’t leave without him, maybe he’s skipping with Peter too and just got up to make them breakfast. He must have also grabbed his shirt off of the floor, while Peter is still shivering and shirtless in the bed. Peter checks his phone, but there’s no text from Flash waiting for him. 

Cold washes over him, and suddenly he’s fighting back tears. Flash is gone. Flash left him. He knew this was going to happen, but he never let himself think about what he would do when it did. He had thought he’d feel numb at first, figured that it would take a second to hit him. He at least assumed he’d have some warning, some time to wrap his head around it first. He doesn’t, though, and it hits him instantly; a crushing, venomous weight pinning him to the mattress and making it hard to breathe. 

Flash is gone, and Peter fucked up. That’s the only explanation, there’s no other reason Flash wouldn’t be in bed with him right now. He would never leave without letting Peter know where he’s going, he knows Flash isn’t the type to just leave without saying anything. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone now. Peter must have made a mistake, must have reacted wrongly to Flash’s confessions. 

He didn’t support Flash like he deserved, that has to be it. Or he scared Flash away, reminding him too much of his past for it to be bearable anymore. How can Peter think it’s even remotely ok to remind Flash of his trauma like this? He must have forced Flash to share more than he wanted to, he’s so selfish. 

Peter knows that if he calls Flash at the end of the day and asks where he went, Flash will make up some excuse, something about school, and then ask to meet up. He’ll give him the talk, then, the “it’s not you, it’s me” bullshit. Except it is Peter, it’s not Flash, and there’s nothing he can do to change that. 

Peter told himself that saying “I told you so,” when Flash left because he was too much to handle would be better than saying “what if.” He was so, so wrong. The extra time he had with Flash before he got sick of him and left would have been so much better than this, this waking up with Flash gone without a trace, this hell on Earth. 

The worst part is, Peter hadn’t even realized how much of his heart he had given to Flash before it was ripped out, gone. He thought he was keeping himself safe, only giving Flash how much he could afford to lose. He kept so much of himself back, held onto pieces of himself so tightly just to have something to hold onto when Flash left. It wasn’t enough, though. He gave too much. 

Not just the thing about May, not everything with his food issues, not even Spider-Man. The worst part is that the most insignificant parts of himself have become Flash’s along the way. The way he likes tea over coffee, tainted by how Flash would bring him a cup on cold mornings. The way Peter would escape to his bed, gone now as he’s fled to Flash’s bed so many times instead. The way he only had one playlist, changed by the myriad of stupid indie songs Flash added to it. 

Flash has claimed the way Peter talks, the way he laughs, just by pointing out how he’s memorized Peter’s tells, the way his tone changes. He’s taken how Peter dresses, because the minute they get into Flash’s apartment, Peter is out of his layers of sweatshirts and drowning in one of Flash’s shirts. Even when Peter dresses for school in the mornings, it’s changed by Peter’s compulsion to put on the shirts Flash complimented, the way Flash likes his hair, the nail polish on his nails. 

Nothing of his own belongs to him anymore; Flash holds it all. And he’s just left with it. He’s in too deep, too fucking deep, and he can’t even think about  _ breathing  _ if he knows that Flash is gone. 

Flash helped him breathe. He took some of the pain away, long enough for Peter to get used to feeling happy. Now that Flash is gone, Peter thinks that maybe losing him will feel like withdrawal. He can feel it twisting in his stomach, bile rising in the back of his throat. He doesn’t know if it’s from all of the calories he ate the day before, or because he’s losing the best thing that’s ever happened to him, but Peter is going to vomit. 

He pushes himself from the bed, tries to untangle himself from the blankets. The entire room spins as he grabs the bed to steady himself, the pounding in his head matching the rabid thumping of his heart in his chest. When he finally feels like he can walk, his knees wobbling only a little, Peter takes one last glance around the room. He looks for any sign of Flash, but his clothes from the night before are gone. All that’s left is the shirt that Peter pulls on, just to cover himself from his own eyes. 

Peter stumbles toward the bathroom, fully ready to puke his guts out, when he hears voices in the living room a few feet away. His heart starts racing, because… Flash. There’s another sniffle, and a shaky murmur, and he knows it’s Flash. 

Peter’s frozen in place. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..... it's another CLIFFHANGER! The next update will come soon, let me know what you think :)


	42. Or an Upward Slope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me, here's part 2 to the last cliffhanger! Enjoy!!

Peter stumbles toward the bathroom, fully ready to puke his guts out, when he hears voices in the living room a few feet away. His heart starts racing, because… Flash. There’s another sniffle, and a shaky murmur, and he knows it’s Flash. 

Peter’s frozen in place.

“I know, Stark,” Flash says, his voice so small it’s no wonder Peter hadn’t heard him from his room before. “His own fucking aunt, I don’t even know… I don’t know what I’d do, if you said a rude comment to him, much less kicked him out. Fuck, don’t  _ ever  _ pull that shit on him,” Flash says, sounding fierce despite his quiet tone. 

Peter stands in stunned silence as he listens to Flash, obviously talking to Tony. He rests his back on the wall next to the door, lets himself sink to the floor in silence. He doesn’t know what this means, why Flash hasn’t left yet. Maybe he’s talking to Tony about leaving, making sure he’s safe before he finally goes. Transferring the burden. 

“He put up with so much shit at school, too, before. Because of me, dammit, before I knew about any of this. I was such an asshole. Nobody even checked up on him, he had to wait for me to get my head out of my ass. Not even his friends,” Flash sits. 

Peter scrubs at his face, doesn’t want to think about those days, not repeated in Flash’s beautiful voice. 

Still, Flash is here. They’re only separated by a door, and even if Flash is just pitying him, at least he’s  _ here _ . 

“Flash,” he hears Tony’s voice, and it hits him that the only two people he has left in the world are through that door. Peter must have zoned out, at that thought, because he misses everything Tony says. 

He zones back into the sound of Flash’s voice, breaking and thick with tears. 

“He kept saying how wrong he was, how it was his fault that she hated him. It fucking kills me to hear him say that, Stark. I can’t fathom a universe where he could deserve any of that. He deserves the world,” Flash is crying hard, now, and tears start to stick in Peter’s throat. “He deserves to be reminded every day of how amazing he is, but every time I try to tell him, he doesn’t believe me.” 

Peter is completely torn. Even now, hearing this, the little voice in the back of his head is telling him that Flash is about to leave. He’ll realize that Peter can never be enough, that he’s unloveable, and he’ll leave. Tony just has to tell Flash to cut his losses and run, to leave it to the big boys or whatever phrasing he’ll use to say what they’re all thinking: that Peter’s too much work. 

“Fuck, I left him alone in there. He’s gonna wake up any minute and think that I’ve left him. He already thinks I’m going to leave, now he’ll wake up and see that I’m gone, and freak out because he’ll think that now that he’s told me everything I’m going to leave him,” Flash says. 

Peter frowns and wipes at his face with shaking hands. His head kind of feels like it’s underwater and he’s so confused. 

“Why would he think that?” Peter hears Tony’s voice through the wall, and his heart shatters at Flash’s response. 

“Because he thinks everyone is going to leave him. Fuck, he has good reason, too, with the shit May pulled. He doesn’t realize that there are still people left, though, people that love him. I’ll be here, Stark, I’ll be here until the day he pushes me away. And even then, I don’t know… I’ve never loved anyone like this. I want to be with him forever,” Flash whispers, his voice shaking. 

The words bounce around Peter’s head like cotton balls, fuzzy and non-sticking. They don’t make sense. He’d never push Flash away. More than that, though, one phrase sticks out in his head: I’ve never loved anyone like this. No matter how he spins it, Peter realizes that it can only mean one thing; Flash loves him. 

Whether Flash has never loved anyone in this way, or whether he has never loved anyone like Peter, the phrase means the same thing overall. Flash loves him. Forever. Why would anyone want forever with  _ him _ ? 

“Has he looked into that list I gave him, the other day? I know he probably hasn’t had time, with the shit he’s been through, but I think it would help,” Tony says softly, his voice oddly gentle. 

“I, I don’t think so. He won’t go, I know he won’t. When I first asked him, forever ago, he said no. He doesn’t need to go to rehab, I don’t think, he’s keeping food in his system and he isn’t fighting it as much anymore. I know it’s not, not even remotely all about food, it’s about him hurting inside,” Flash says, pausing as the sound of paper crinkling interrupts him. “Like a psychologist? I’m not sure, I-” 

“It helped me,” Tony cuts Flash off, and both boys gasp in shock at Tony opening up to Flash. 

“I still don’t think he’ll agree to it,” Flash says anyway, and Peter hates that he’s right. 

The helplessness in Flash’s voice makes Peter’s breath catch, like there’s nothing he’d want more than Peter to get help, but Peter is denying it. Peter suddenly feels like he’s letting Flash down. Flash has given him so many chances, so many opportunities where Peter has proven that he’s not enough, but he’s still here. He’s still accepting Peter, over and over, saying he loves him anyway. 

Flash has stuck around while Peter has kept secrets from him, has yelled at him, lied to him, been a complete and utter mess. Peter realizes that Flash doesn’t just want to be with Peter to fix him and then leave, because he’s just admitted that he wants to be with Peter forever, no matter what. 

Peter hears a door close on the other end of the living room and his heart drops before he hears Flash sigh and realizes that it’s just Tony going down to his workshop, leaving Flash alone with his thoughts. Peter sniffs and wipes his cheeks one last time, wondering if he should go back to bed and pretend he didn’t hear, or if he should knock on the door and say something. He doesn’t know what he’d say if he did,  _ I’m sorry I’m such a shit boyfriend? Thank you for staying?  _

_ Please don’t leave me _ . 

He hears a shuddery breath on the other side of the door, then a sob, and his heart aches in his chest. He caused that. Peter pushes himself up onto his shaky legs and presses his fingers into his palm, knocking his knuckles against the door softly. 

“Flash, it’s me,” Peter says. 

Flash’s breath hitches, and he lets out a loud sob, and he clears his throat. “Okay,” he says quietly. The door creaks open and he’s met with Flash’s red eyes, tear tracks on his cheeks that must match Peter’s own. “Did you hear-” 

“Yeah, some of it,” Peter says, refusing to lie. 

Flash nods slightly, his eyebrows scrunching up, but Peter just rushes forward and presses himself into Flash’s chest. He wraps his arms around Flash’s waist and buries his face in his chest, running his hands up and down Flash’s spine, trying to soothe him and he starts to cry again. 

“It’s not your job to fix me,” Peter whispers. 

“I want you to be happy,” Flash sobs. “I just want you to be happy, baby, you deserve to be happy.” 

“I am,” Peter insists. “I’m happy when I’m with you.” 

“I don’t want you to hate yourself anymore! I don’t want to be the only one who loves you this much, I love you so fucking much, and it fucking kills me that you can’t do the same. How can you hate the person that I love so much?” Flash cries hysterically, shaking in Peter’s arms. 

“I… I don’t know,” Peter whispers. 

Pete’s mind is at war with itself. As Flash whimpers and holds Peter impossibly closer, Peter holds back just as tightly. He doesn’t know how to respond to Flash hurting this much just because Peter is unhappy. Half of him is saying that it shows how much Flash cares for him, while the other is telling him he’s a terrible person for making someone this amazing be hurt by his fucked up life. 

“Peter, I’m gonna ask you something. Please just think before you say no, okay?” Flash mumbles, not moving his head from its perch on Peter’s shoulder. 

“I want you to consider… would you maybe think about, like--would you go talk to someone? Like, not me, or Tony. I mean, I love talking to you, that’s not what I mean,” Flash blushes, stuttering more than Peter’s ever seen. “I mean. Shit. A professional. Like, a psychologist. Not rehab, or anything! I swear, not an institution. Just, like, someone to talk to, someone who could help you. Before you say no, just, think about it? You don’t have to tell me now, don’t say no right now, I just want you to really think about it. You don’t have to go all the time, either, right? Even like once a week, once every two weeks if you want, I-” 

“Okay,” Peter cuts Flash off. 

“W-what?” Flash asks, thrown off as Peter interrupts his rambling. 

“Okay,” Peter says again, the word tasting of relief on his tongue. 

Flash breathes the deepest sigh of relief Peter has ever heard. “Thank you,” he whispers, voice cracking from overuse and emotion. “Take all the time you need to really think about it, too, please. Tony gave you a list, right? We can look into it together, check out people’s backgrounds and see who works. And if none of them work, that’s okay too, we can go from there.” 

“Just, uh, just not a psychiatrist. No medicine, not yet. It has all of these side effects and it can make you gain weight and I have no idea how it’ll interact with my metabolism…” Peter trails off, realizing how crazy he sounds, how even by agreeing to this he’s appearing more unstable. Still, he agrees. 

“Of course, whatever you’re comfortable with,” Flash murmurs, grabbing Peter’s hand tightly. “What made you change your mind?” 

“W-when I woke up this morning, I… I thought you had left me. That you left me because of what I’d told you. And, I don’t want you to leave me,” Peter says blankly. He can’t help but let the tears gathering in his eyes slip down his cheeks. “I’m so, so tired of making you worry about me. I unload all of my burdens on you, Flash, and that isn’t fair. I never want you crying over my shit again, okay?” Peter says fiercely. 

Peter is full on crying by the time he finishes, because how he felt when he thought Flash was gone is rushing back to him. He needs Flash. He can't let Flash go, and if that means going to a psychologist he'll do it without question. He wants to be better for Flash. He wants to deserve him, he wants to be good enough for him. 

Flash lets out a whimper and scoops Peter up into his arms before carrying him over to the couch in the middle of the room. Peter doesn't protest to being cradled in Flash’s lap like a baby, much less where anyone could see, because he thought he had lost this, and he would crawl under Flash’s skin just to be closer, if it were possible.

"Listen to me Peter, please. I would never, ever leave you. It kills me that you thought that even for a moment. I just couldn't sleep and I needed to talk to someone, and Tony was here, and I just… I had to do  _ something _ , because I'm worried about you. I would never leave you for opening up to me, and I will never leave you, whether you see a psychologist or not. I worry about you, I would worry about you if you had a perfect life, and I will always worry about you, because I  _ love  _ you.” Flash ignores the gasp that Peter lets out, ignores the way Peter pulls back in his arms to look at him, ignores the stutter of Peter's heart in his chest. “I always want you to be the happiest you can be, and I never want to see you hurting. You aren't putting your burdens on me. I am your boyfriend, we are in this together, and I would take every single burden off of you if I could. You aren't alone anymore, baby. I'm here for you, because I want to be, and nothing is going to change that. You opening up to me means the world. I'm the lucky one Peter, I thank my lucky stars every day that you're in my life, and I am going to stay right here as long as you'll let me," Flash says, and Peter hates himself for whimpering, but he's trying so hard to believe what Flash is saying, "but- serious baby, if you- if you really mean it we'll find you the best doctor, someone who can help. Please- please tell me you mean it?"

Peter chokes back a sob and nods, "I mean it Flash. Fuck I'm just- I'm so fucking tired of feeling like this all the time. It's exhausting. I just want to feel okay."

Flash makes a strangled noise and pulls Peter in tighter, "I love you, I fucking love you so much, and it's going to be okay, you're going to feel okay. You're going to be happy. We're going to get you help. I love you so, so much."

Peter can barely breathe with how overwhelming his words are, can barely think beyond _ I love you I love you I love you _ . He bites his lip to keep the words in, to keep the curse inside of him. Everyone he loves dies, he can’t make Flash die, he can’t tell him. 

“I-” Peter starts, but he can’t think of anything better to say. 

“It’s okay, darling,” Flash says, voice soothing against the anxiety terrorizing Peter’s mind. “You don’t have to say anything.” 

“I just… I really care about you, Flash,” Peter finally grits out. He feels Flash smile against him, his cheek pressed snugly against Peter’s head, and he feels just a bit lighter. 

Maybe Flash is right; maybe someday, soon, he can be happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please let me know what you think!! Your comments make my day :)


	43. Here Goes Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH for your support on the last chapter!

After a week at the Tower, Peter feels like he’s going to crawl out of his skin. It’s too tight, too clingy, like a wool sock that’s five times too small. Tony’s been basically force-feeding him super-portions, meal after meal of excess, and Peter is starting to see the results. 

Without Flash’s gentle touch at each meal, Peter has been forced to eat more quickly, eat  _ more _ , than he has in months. 

Now, standing in the huge rain shower that Tony apparently has set up in every residential bathroom in the fucking Tower, Peter hates what he sees. He lets the searing water of the shower cascade over him, bending his knees painfully to tuck himself into a ball at the bottom of the tub. He’s already washed his hair, and his body, but he can’t force himself to step out of the spray yet. His knees are drawn up to his chest, in the only position he’s been able to find after days that doesn’t make him feel like his stomach is about to rip in half. 

It hurts so badly. When Peter stands up straight, or stretches out, he swears he can feel his skin pulling apart. The itchiness of his skin stretching to accommodate all of the godforsaken food he’s shoved into himself makes him want to scream, to rip it off just for a moment’s comfort. 

This pain doesn’t feel like the one he’s grown to love. It doesn’t feel like proud, empty nights, when he’s gone days without eating. It doesn’t feel like the delicate fluttering of his heart in his chest when he walks up a set of stairs. It doesn’t feel like the soothing, predictable rhythm of his stomach clenching around nothingness. 

This pain feels like failure. It feels like weakness, like insecurity, like selfishness. 

Still, it doesn’t hold a candle to how Tony looks at him. He knows that Tony blames himself, he can see the anger burning behind his eyes. He can see it blistering beneath his knuckles, because Tony’s so mad he’s been taking it out on the punching bags in the team gym without gloves on. Peter tries to convince himself that the anger isn’t directed toward him, but toward Tony himself. He can hear Tony on the phone with Pepper, when Tony’s in the common room and he’s in his room. Tony’s furious at himself for not noticing, for letting something like this happen in the first place. Like Peter has some sort of disease that they could have prevented if they had just caught the symptoms quickly enough. 

When Flash joins them for dinner, Peter can feel them exchanging glances over his head, speaking some silent language that they never bothered to help Peter learn. He knows that they’re silently discussing the way he eats, the way he looks. 

Peter wants to go back to the way things were before, when nobody saw, when nobody noticed. When all he had to come home to was an empty apartment with an empty table, empty cabinets, empty stomach. He misses locking himself in his room on days when May was home, misses the hard thump of his heart in his stomach when he got to explain away missed dinners and missed meals and missing Flash so much it made his head spin. 

Now, he doesn’t even get one meal of reprieve. He can’t skip one dinner, one plate, anything. 

Peter stands up slowly, feeling the water pool in the crevices of his clavicles, sliding down the slope of his bloated stomach. When he pushes himself to his feet he feels heavy, unbalanced. He reaches for the towel outside of the curtain, drying himself off inside the shower and avoiding his reflection outside. Peter wraps himself in the stupid fluffy robe Tony left for him, far too fancy and soft to feel like he could actually use it. Peter steps out of the shower unsteadily, cursing his knees and ankles as they ache. 

“Alright, baby?” Flash calls from the bedroom, and Peter cringes. He’s been in here too long, far too long, and now he’s worried Flash. 

“Yeah, be out in a second,” Peter calls back quickly, trying to hold in a sigh. He’s developed this tone of voice, this special way of speaking that keeps his and Tony’s worries at bay. It’s light and casual, just on the right side of bright enough to be believable, but not too dull to make them think he isn’t ok. 

Peter stands there, in the bathroom, and teeters on the verge of crying. He doesn’t want to step out of the bathroom, he hasn’t picked out his clothes yet and he doesn’t want anyone seeing his legs. The robe falls down past his knees, nearly halfway down his shins, but it doesn’t feel like enough coverage. His joints have started swelling, which the Internet says is normal, but Peter’s worried that it’s more than just all of the water he’s retaining now. His knees are huge, and his ankles are pink and thick. He doesn’t roll the cuffs of his jeans, anymore, the only sliver of skin that he used to show in public. His patterned socks feel tight. 

Taking a deep breath, Peter turns the knob of the door. Flash is sitting on his bed, half-reclined on a stack of pillows, phone propped in one hand against his chest. Peter has to fight back a giggle at the sight of Flash’s cross-eyed gaze at his phone, but he must not be quiet enough, because Flash’s head shoots up and his eyes lock on Peter’s. 

Peter’s heart can’t help but skip a beat as Flash looks at him. His insecurity triples, at least, but he also finds himself wishing to never step outside of Flash’s warm gaze again. It blankets over him comfortingly, like a summer breeze, and Peter blushes from the heat of it. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” Flash whispers, and the look on his face nearly convinces Peter that the compliment is real. 

“H-hi,” Peter stutters, blushing all the way down to his chest. 

“I’m so proud of you, darling,” Flash says simply, and Peter’s head spins before he realizes what Flash is referring to. 

His first therapy appointment is today. 

Peter nods at Flash’s comment, sticking with his tried and true method of response before walking toward the giant walk-in closet that sits nuzzled in the far wall of his room. He stands there, for a while, and just thinks. 

He, Tony, and Flash spent the past week scouring The List for a therapist that Peter would like. Well,  _ like  _ is a strong word. They ended up finding this woman, Peter never really cared to learn her name, whom Tony believed was qualified enough, Flash thought sounded gentle enough over the phone, and Peter decided didn’t sound absolutely terrible overall. 

Peter just now realizes how real all of this is. Here he is, standing in front of a closet full of clothes that aren’t really his, in a room that isn’t really his, living a life that he never imagined would be his. 

Peter startles when he feels arms drape over his shoulders, 

“You there, baby?” Flash asks, voice just on the wrong side of joking. It kills Peter to hear the desperation in his tone, like he’s expecting Peter to snap and refuse to go at any moment. It hurts even more that Peter is, in fact, thinking about doing just that. 

“Yeah, just… just trying to figure out what to wear,” Peter lies, running a hand over the rows of soft shirts hanging in front of him. It’s not really a lie, if he’s getting technical; Peter really has no idea what to wear. Every time he puts on the clothes that Tony bought him after… when he moved in, it feels like he’s stealing. Sure, Tony ripped off the price tags on every piece, but it doesn’t trick Peter into thinking that his billionaire mentor would stoop to buying Walmart clothes, which Peter  _ still  _ would not deserve. 

Flash rests a hand on top of his from behind, and Peter shivers at the pressure of Flash’s chest pressing against his back. “I may be a bit biased, but I’m pretty sure you could wear a potato sack and still pull it off,” Flash teases, “I mean, you even looked hot in those stupid pun T-shirts and your ratty old flannels.” 

Peter can’t help but giggle at the reminder of his old relationship with Flash. Sparks of energy flare up in his chest from Flash’s teasing, and it makes his cheeks hot and his blood warm. Peter spins around quickly, coming face-to-face with Flash, their chests just inches apart and their noses nearly touching. 

“Hmmm is that so? Because I vividly remember somebody telling me I looked like a blind preteen who got dressed in the dark…” Peter jokes, feigning ignorance and watching Flash turn pink. 

“Whoever that was, it sounds like he had a point,” Flash says cheekily, raising a perfectly-groomed eyebrow. 

Peter smirks as an idea pops into his head, and he rises up on his tip-toes, pressing a hard kiss to Flash’s lips. It shuts Flash up, pulling a little “hmph” from his lips, and Peter pulls away just as Flash relaxes into it, taking a little step backward to put space between them. “Still think I look like a preteen?” Peter asks innocently. 

Flash is standing, eyes wide with shock, just inches in front of him. Peter’s heart thumps with anticipation as Flash shakes his head dazedly, lips still parted prettily from where Peter kissed him. 

“Now, wanna actually help me get dressed, Mr. Perfect Taste?” Peter asks, covering up his anxiety about actually getting dressed while teasing his flustered boyfriend. 

Flash somehow manages to blush even deeper at the compliment to his taste, making Peter smile in victory, and stutters out a “yes.”

Peter steps to the side to let Flash look into the closet, shoving his shaking hands into the pockets of his fuzzy robe while Flash gets to work picking out his outfit for the day. He smiles wider as he watches Flash pick out multiple layers, playing up Peter’s personal comfort and style while using his own taste to refine it and make him presentable. 

Flash finally settles on a baby blue, light collared shirt with a soft gray sweater, a pair of dark wash jeans, and a pair of tennis shoes that replaced his beat-up pair from ages ago. He spends nearly ten whole minutes helping Peter straighten the collar of the shirt over the neck of his sweater, flattening out the fabric into sharp edges and letting his fingers linger on Peter’s neck and jaw. Peter busies himself with his nails while Flash fusses over him, sitting on the edge of the bed and picking at his chipped polish. 

When he sees Flash look down at his fiddling hands, Peter knows that he’s making a mental note to paint Peter’s nails again soon, and the thought makes Peter’s stomach flutter happily. 

Peter finally looks up when Flash’s hands pause at his neck, settling down to rest with his palms flat against Peter’s chest. 

“You ready to go, baby?” Flash asks softly, and it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room. Peter nods, because he’s not sure what else he could possibly do, and Flash pulls him up from the bed with one hand. 

Peter’s only thought as he slides into the back seat of Tony’s car, Flash’s hand in his, is “ _ here goes nothing. _ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!! Also as always hit me with any suggestions you'd like to see :)


	44. Let's Hear It For Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for some Healthy Peter, a rare sight in this fic

When Peter steps out into the waiting room, he sees Tony right away. He’s sprawled across three whole chairs; sitting in one, his legs propped on another, and a third the designated home of the tools he’s using to tinker with his watch (which, unbeknownst to the other patrons, is actually a hidden gauntlet). 

His eyes find Flash next, sitting a few seats away with headphones in, holding his physics textbook upside down. He can hear soft indie music pouring from Flash’s headphones, too quiet for anyone but them to hear, and the connection makes his brain numb. Peter walks over and knocks his foot against Flash’s, making the other boy jump and drop his book loudly. 

“Enjoying your book?” Peter asks, trying not to laugh at the sight of Flash’s cheeks turning a radiant pink. He hears Tony chuckle from behind them. 

“Hmm? Yeah… uh, no. I wasn’t focusing at all,” Flash confesses slowly. 

“C’mon, kids, let’s blow this pop stand,” Tony says loudly, making both Peter and Flash shoot him embarrassed looks as the other people awaiting their appointments look on judgmentally. Tony just rolls his eyes and walks downstairs, seemingly ready to abandon them, even though Peter has a sneaking suspicion that he has eyes in the back of his head. 

This theory is confirmed a second later when Tony shouts to Flash, “don’t forget your book!” 

Flash had, of course, forgotten. Peter grabs it for him, slipping the book into one of his hands and his own hand in the other. 

Once they get in the car, Tony doesn’t start it; instead, he turns around fully in his seat, facing the boys. “How’d it go, kiddo?” 

Peter sighs, “I don’t know, weird, I guess? We didn’t really, like, actually talk about anything,” Tony shoots him a knowing look at that, and Peter takes that to mean that it’s normal, which makes him feel better. At least he isn’t too boring for therapy, or something. “Anyway, she just asked me a bunch of questions, but like, really randomly. Like, first she made me tell her… basically what I told you both, but a more condensed version? She wrote it all down, which kind of sucked, but whatever. Then she asked me about my parents, then B-Ben, then, her. But then she jumped to asking me about school, and my friends, and that also really sucked, because I couldn’t even really explain any of it right. Like, sorry, no friends for me, just dating my ex-bully? That sounds weird to anyone, right?” Peter jokes, and Flash laughs quietly next to him. “Then she switched to my eating habits, then back to Flash, then something else random.” 

“It’s gonna feel really batshit for a while, kid, but I promise it’ll make sense soon. She’s just trying to get a lay of the land, a little look into your big ole brain,” Tony says lightly, and Peter can only hope that he’s right. If this is what therapy is always going to be like, he’d rather just go yell his problems into the void between New York skyscrapers at night. It’s just as exhausting and confusing, and way cheaper. 

“Have you, uh, been crying?” Flash asks hesitantly, looking pointedly at Peter’s definitely bloodshot eyes. 

“A little,” Peter says, “still feels really shitty to say it all out loud.” 

Flash nods, “so you told her everything, answered all of her questions?” 

“Yeah,” Peter nods, trying his best not to feel inspected. “I figured I might as well, it’s her job, right? Plus, I promised you that I would,” Peter aims the last bit at Tony as well as Flash, trying to let them both know that he’s really trying. That he’s doing this for them. 

“Proud of you, Pete,” Tony says matter-of-factly before swivelling around in his chair to face the wheel. He starts the car, and Peter takes a deep breath. “So, dinner. Who’s hungry?” 

_ Fuck _ . 

“Starving,” Flash responds, and Peter wants to punch him and hug him at the same time.  _ Asshole _ . 

\---

That night, with his first-ever therapy appointment under his belt, Peter doesn’t know how he feels. He’s tired, for one thing, and he feels like he’s been stretched out, compressed, and wrung out all at once. 

He’s wrapped in two pairs of flannel pants, Flash’s t-shirt, and Tony’s old MIT sweatshirt when he goes to Flash’s room for the night. They managed to convince Tony to drop them off there instead of the Tower, Flash coming up with an excuse on the spot about leaving a textbook there or something Peter didn’t really listen to. He was too focused on the idea of getting to sit on Flash’s couch again, lie in his bed, be in  _ his  _ space. 

Flash takes their evening at home as an opportunity to re-paint Peter’s nails, setting up shop on his cozy couch and taking his time rummaging through to find the right color. He lands on a soft, almost-nude pink, just shy of cotton candy. Peter sets up a record, in the meantime, and they fall into place like puzzle pieces on the couch. 

“Thank you, Flash,” Peter says once they’ve settled up against the cushions, Peter’s left hand cradled in Flash’s. 

Flash looks confused, “for what, baby?”

“For, like, caring? For dealing with this stuff?” Peer replies. _ For trying to love me _ , he thinks. 

“Darling, I’m so proud of you,” Flash says, and Peter can’t help but shake his head. 

“All I did was sit through one appointment.”

“I would have been proud of you if you went and had to leave halfway through, or if you just sat there and refused to say a word. I’m even more proud, though, that you took the first step. You went in there, you answered all of her questions. I can see how hard you’re trying, Peter, and I can’t… I can’t explain how much that means to me,” Flash confesses, looking up from Peter’s half-painted pointer finger to stare into his eyes. 

Peter’s cheeks are flushed by the time he finishes, and he feels hot and confined in his layers. 

“I just, I want to be fixed,” Peter says quietly, looking down as Flash touches the brush back to his nail. “You’re telling me how proud you are, and all I can think about is how if I wasn’t so fucked up in the first place, we wouldn’t have to be doing this at all.” 

This is a new thing for them, Peter telling Flash how he feels. Ever since his breakdown after seeing the marks on Peter’s stomach when he broke down, Flash has been encouraging it. It was hard, at first, but Peter feels better because of it. It’s nice not to have to analyze everything before it comes out of his mouth, dissecting how it could be taken badly or worry those around him. Flash has been trying it, too, but it’s a bit harder for him to even identify what he’s feeling, and usually it takes shape as amorphous anxiety. 

Flash makes a sad sound, but Peter still doesn’t look up. Polish settles as softly as dust across the nail of his left ring finger. “Peter, you don’t have to be fixed. You’re not broken, or defective. You’re just hurt. You’ve been so, so hurt, and now you just need a little help to heal. All we’re doing is healing, okay, baby?”

Peter nods, trying so hard to believe him. It’s hard though, to think you’re not broken when everything points to you being shattered. He is broken, he’s defective, and he’s pathetic. Maybe he could heal, if he tried, but he’d still be like a broken bone that wasn’t set properly; the pain may go away, but he’ll always be broken. 

“I love you,” Flash says quietly, his hand warm against Peter’s as he switches out Peter’s left hand for his right.

Peter has been wondering a lot, lately, what it would be like to finally tell Flash that he loves him. The words stick in his throat every time Flash says it, pressing hard against his teeth and tongue like a magnet rushing to meet its mate. He can’t say it, though. The doubt, the terror that he’d feel after saying it, would eat him alive. He can look at it objectively, can love the way Flash takes care of him, the way he makes him feel, how it feels to be with him. He can’t love Flash, though, not in the complete, encompassing, unconditional way he knows he should. 

He’s told himself a million times that Flash loves him, since he said it the first time a week ago. Peter sees it in the look in Flash’s eyes, the words he says that must be true, the fact that he acts the way he does because he loves Peter. He’s tried to believe it a million times, too, but he just can’t. Any time he tries to think about it, his mind floods with all of the reasons Flash could never love him, the reasons it would be deadly to love Flash back. 

“Love your hands,” Peter says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Flash smiles that special little smile he gets when Peter uses the word love to describe something about him. This is new for them, too: Peter using the word at all. He may not be able to tell Flash that he loves him, but he could list a billion things he loves about the other teen. It’s like each comment Peter makes means the world to Flash. For the past week, Flash has been a blushing mess, smiley and happy each time Peter uses the word around him. It’s hard to say out loud, most of the time, but Peter thinks it’s worth it to see that shimmer in Flash’s eyes. 

“I love yours too, darling. Especially when they’re in mine,” Flash says, after a second of just trying to hold back a smile. 

“Corny bastard,” Peter teases, and Flash waves him off. 

Flash finishes the first coat on Peter’s second hand a minute later, and he pulls back a bit while they wait for it to dry. 

“So, any wise words from the mind guru today?” Flash asks, and Peter can tell that he’s being dumb to get Peter to open up and ease his anxiety. It’s cute. 

“Kinda? I mostly just had to retell everything, like I told you and Tony earlier,” Peter says, feeling drained but not wanting to actually snap at him. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Flash mumbles, looking down to twist and untwist the cap to the nail polish. “Just, like, wondering if there’s anything I should be doing? Like, for you?” 

Peter’s heart melts, at that, and he feels guilty for being short with Flash. “Oh, uh, okay,” Peter starts, trying to think back to the ton of information that was thrown at him in the session. “I mean, she told me to be a little more open at school? Like, if MJ or someone looks at me or tries to talk to me, I shouldn’t glare or anything? It sounds dumb and obvious, but I think both of us have been kind of defensive,” Peter says. 

Flash nods, “yeah, that makes sense.”

“And, uh, she really likes our… food system,” Peter grits out, not wanting to bring it up but knowing that he should. 

“Really,” Flash beams, looking positively overjoyed. 

“Yeah, really,” Peter giggles, nudging Flash’s knee with his own. “She thinks you’ve really been helping me.” 

“I’m glad, baby,” Flash says, grabbing Peter’s right hand to apply a second coat of paint to the nails. “That's all I could hope to do.” 

“Thank you,” Peter says earnestly. 

“Anything for you, dork.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I really hope you are enjoying this arc for Peter, and as always tell me if there's something you'd like to see for his recovery! Also, I have a couple more characters coming into play soon, so keep an eye out for them in later chapters!


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